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HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK ; 

/ 

OB, 

✓ 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 


BY 



MRS. S. A. SOUTHWORTH, 
u 

AUTHOR OF “LAWRENCE MONROE,” ETC. 


“Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Toward a truer, deeper light above; 
Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love.” 


\ 

BOSTON: 

1900 



TWO COPlfc-S 4 < EC El V ED, 


\ 




V 



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I 


y 


Library of Cong:rot% O 
Uffico 0 f the 

MAV2 11900 

Kogitfar of Copyrlgkli^ 

a, ///f 
9}U(/) . 

SECOND COPY, 


COPTBIGHT, 1900, BY Leb AND ShEPAED. 


'AU Rights Reserved. 


Hesteb Stbong’s Life Woek. 


58686 



1 


Norijjootj IPreas: 

Berwick 8c Smith, Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


CBAPm PAei 

I. The Loverings and their Friends. • • .9 

II. Life and its Changes. . . . • .18 

III. Sad Scenes at the Small House. . . .31 

IV. The Pain and its Cure. — The Confession and Revul- 

sion. . . . . . .42 

V. Alone with the Dying and the Dead. — The Sad Return. 6 \ 

VI. What became of the Children. — The Midnight Call. 6\ 

VII. The Children’s Prattle. — The Wife’s Burden, or a 


Synopsis of Mr. Giles. . . • .73 

VIII. A Tragic Scene in Village Life. . • .83 

IX. Mr. Trueman’s Family. — Pleasant Memories. . 93 

X. Mr. and Mrs. Stillman. — A Domestic Scene. . 99 

XI. Christmas Morning. — Reminiscences of the Past. . 106 

XII. The Christmas Party. — Miss Patty Stearns. . 112 

XIII. What Santa Claus left. — Judith Lovering’s Advice. 122 

XIV. Winnie’s Visit, and the Party. . . . 128 

XV. Making Calls here and there. .... 136 


XVI. The Separation. — The Aged Christian’s Death-bed. 143 

XVII. The New Home and its Trials. — Mr. Wiley’s Family. 161 
XVin. The Good Shepherd’s Watchfulness. — The Disclo- 
sure. — The Burial. • . • 

(«) 


162 


6 


CONTENTS. 


XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 


Morgan Lentell, or the Broken Web. — The 
Accident. ..... 172 

Mrs. Giles’ Sickness. — Miss Ann Thropee, or 
Sympathy wasted. .... 179 

Winnie’s Thoughtfulness. — Sunshine and her 
Freak. ...... 189 

Hester’s Visit to Mrs. Giles. — Little Johnnie’s 
Death. — Removal of Mrs. Giles to her Father’s 
House. ...... 196 

The Struggle and the Triumph. — The Council. — 

Mr. Giles’ Visit 213 

About the Baby. — Trouble upon Trouble. — The 
Proposal. . . . ■ . . 227 

Hester rescues the Baby from its unnatural Father. 

— Dr. Edward’s timely Arrival. . . 233 

Midnight Musings. — The Discovery. — Conscience 
disturbed. ..... 243 

Passing Events. — Scenes and Incidents. . 261 

About Hester’s Call. — Winnie’s Talk, and Grand- 
pa’s Wedding. ..... 268 
Self-Communings. — The Still Small Voice. — 

Light in Darkness. .... 264 
Bitter Memories. — Welcome News. — Love re- 
warded. — Elevia saved. . . . 279 

The Day of Miracles, or Mr. Giles and Mr. Lover- 
ing made Friends. . . ... 289 

Fostina’s Mission. ..... 304 
Sunshine and Shadows. — Deception unveiled. . 318 
Scene in a Factory Boarding-House. — The 
Tempter foiled. ..... Jia3 


CONTENTS. 


7 


XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 


Hester’s Faith rewarded. — A Leap in the Dark. — 
Deceived and deserted. .... 863 

Fort Sumter is fallen. — The Call to Arms. — 
Weeping at the Village Depot. . . . 868 

Fostina’s Life Work begins. — Hester’s Story of 
her own Childhood. .... 876 

Love’s Golden Key, or a New Era in the Lentell 
Family. ...... 886 

Uncle Levi. — Sad Scene at the Supper Table. — 

The Noble Wreck. .... 896 

Elida’s Visit. — The Soldier’s Funeral, or the 
Laurel Wreath. ..... 411 

Our last Call on the different Families in our 
World. — Harmony’s dying Wish accomplished, 
her Faith rewarded, or the Conclusion of the 
whole Matter. ..... 429 



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HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK 


CHAPTER I. 

The Loverings and their Friends. 

Just on the outskirts of one of New England's most 
enterprising cities, the Lovering farm-house has stood 
for at least a century. The old house was kept in ex- 
cellent order, and in process of time the shed roof on the 
back side was raised, and a porch added, to make room 
for the third and fourth generations. Three tall, trim 
poplars stood sentinel in front of the house ; a maple at 
one end ; a Balm of Gilead spread its leaves and shed 
its healing buds at the other end, shading the .porch 
door. Just over the way, on a gentle eminence, stood 
the corn-barn, ample in dimensions, and under it the 
cider mill and storehouse for farming utensils, with 
bench and tools for repairing. On this bench the chil- 
dren and grandchildren (little ones, I mean) used to sit, 
and watch the apples fall into the hopper ; while Old 
Tom, the family horse, went round and round, with his 
sleepy eyes half shut, a miracle of patience and docility. 

It was an important epoch in the life of each succeed- 
ing child when he or she was taken down from the car- 

( 9 ) 


10 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


penter^s bench, and assigned some post of honor about 
the cider mill. Just back of the house, at the left, stood 
a capacious barn, with all the conveniences necessary on 
a large farm, even to the ‘‘ little yard,’^ as it was called, 
especially for milking. But the pleasantest, the most 
delightful spot on all the premises, was the ‘‘ river road,’' 
or cart path, which led from the barn through welbcul- 
tivated fields, under fruit and other trees, down even to 
the smooth, sweet waters of the Merrimac. Dear old 
river 1 How the young people loved it I What moonlight, 
morning and midday walks they used to take, back and 
forth 1 If there is magic in music, so there was magic in 
the moonbeams as they fell upon the bosom of the 
sparkling water, and came dancing and flickering to you 
through the silver leaves of a cluster of willows which 
stood just at the right hand of the terminus of the river 
road. Beneath these willows were rustic seats, placed 
there many years agone, by young, brave hands, which 
are now folded over the silent bosom of a weary sleeper, 
who is resting in the village burial-ground. Of these 
willows we shall speak again. About half a mile down 
the river, and farther from its sloping banks, Nathan 
Sharp built a small, inconvenient house ; married, and 
made it the business of his life to get rich ; ignoring all 
refinement of manners, all adornment of his person or 
premises, and despising ‘‘ book lamin’,” as he called it ; 
counting no labor too hard that would pay well. His 
worldly goods increased, as well as his family, until he 
could count more acres than Mr. Lovering ; had more 
cattle crowded into his little shabby barn, more chil- 
dren in his inconvenient, uninviting house, and more 
money. He was satisfied, — as much so as a selfish, 


THE LOVERINGS AND THEIR FRIENDS. 


11 


narrow nature can be. Money was his idol ; work, his 
pride and boast. Mehitable, the eldest daughter, was 
her father^s exact counterpart, except in one item — 
she was neat and orderly, even to a fault. 

Mr. Manlie, an educated gentleman, lived at the village 
about two miles from the Loverings. His wife was a 
pleasant, cultivated lady, so that their children enjoyed 
excellent advantages, and were every way worthy of 
their parents. Horace Manlie, while a medical student, 
became engaged to Miss Hester Strong, an adopted 
daughter of the Loverings. Between these two families 
there had always existed a firm friendship, which ripened 
into a warm and permanent attachment. So when the 
eldest son of Mr. Lovering asked timidly for the hand of 
Mary Manlie, it was cheerfully bestowed. This connec- 
tion was pleasant to all who had a right to be concerned, 
if the different members of Mr. Sharpes family did proph- 
esy evil, and that continually. Mary and Hester had 
long been as sisters, and now they felt that they were 
sisters indeed, as they were in affection. 

Both were looking eagerly forward to the time when 
Horace should complete his studies, and cement the bond 
of union between them. They spent many happy hours 
in talking over their future plans, their hopes and bright 
anticipations, little dreaming that a net was even then 
being spread by envious, artful hands, which would 
change their plans, and bring sorrow, ay, anguish, to 
many hearts. Mehitable Sharp had some claims to 
beauty of face and figure. She was of medium height, 
fair complexion, blue eyes, rosy lips, and very sprightly. 
With other training, and different influences, she might 
have been a noble woman. But as it was, all the good 


12 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


aspirations of her ardent nature were crushed out, all the 
envy and avarice of her heart were cultivated. 

Her girlish fancy first fastened upon Charles Lovering ; 
and she lost no opportunity to cultivate his acquaintance, 
and went into many extravagances in dress in order to 
captivate him. But in vain. His true, noble heart 
found its mate in Mary Manlie, and he bore her to his 
home joyfully in spite of hints and unpleasant innuendoes 
thrown out by Miss Sharp. About the time of his mar- 
riage, she was accidentally thrown from her horse very 
near Mr. Manlie’s. She was conveyed to the house, 
treated with the politeness and attention her situation 
demanded, and then carried to her home by Horace, 
who was spending his vacation at his father^s. The 
young lady was charmed with the fine person and agree- 
able manners of the student, and wished, in her inmost 
heart, she could win him for herself. Instinctively, she 
saw how hopeless the task while in her present circum- 
stances ; the difference between them, intellectually and 
morally, was too great ; but she used all the arts she 
was mistress of to interest him. She was brilliant, 
pleasant, and witty. He looked upon her as one who 
had been neglected, and sought to lead her into new 
channels of thought, to stimulate her to cultivate her 
mind and heart. And after this he often called at her 
home when passing, on his way to visit Hester. His 
prejudice against the family was not so great as that of 
his parents and sisters, because he had seldom come in 
contact with them since quite young. 

His mother warned him that he would see trouble if 
he made so much of the girl. 

''0, I think not,’^ was the reply. '' I am trying to 


THE LOVERINGS AND THEIR FRIENDS. 


13 


bring her out, to make something of her. She feels her 
deficiencies sadly. Hester approves of my course. She 
pities her sincerely.’^ 

“ She must have changed, said his sister Martha. 
“ She used to despise learning, and make sport of you, 
and all educated people.’^ 

Well, that was when she was young and thoughtless,’’ 
was the reply. ‘‘ She told me she did. I am going to 
lend her some books ; and, Martha, I wish you would join 
me in the good work of bringing this young girl up out 
of the slough of ignorance in spite of her parents.” 
The student returned to his studies with buoyant, hopeful 
spirits. His affections had never wavered from his first 
and only love, no, not for a moment. But into Hester’s 
heart had finally entered a vague doubt, a nameless fear, 
a secret and scarcely recognized pain. Soon his letters 
became less frequent: she made no complaint,, but her 
step became less elastic, her voice more silent ; she was 
changed. When he chided her gently for her remissness 
in writing to him, she smiled almost bitterly, and strove 
to still the throbbing of her wounded heart, little dream- 
ing that the perfidy of another had robbed her of those 
tokens of remembrance which she so much craved. Had 
either of them been less patient and uncomplaining, the 
artful web which was being woven about them might 
easily have been broken, and all would have been 
well. As Mary sat writing to Horace one day, Hester 
said, — 

Are you writing to Horace ? ” '' Yes, dear,” was 

the reply. May I put in a note to him ? I do not 
feel able to write much.” She wrote and sealed these 
fatal words : — 


u 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Horace, our engagement is at an end, and forever. 
Seek not to see me until we can both talk calmly of the 
past and its broken vows. Farewell. 

Ever your friend, Hester Strong. 

As she handed the sealed note to Mary, she sank back 
in her chair pale and exhausted, crushed and broken- 
hearted. 

“ Hester,’^ said Mary, “ what is it ? Why will you 
not tell me ? Surely you do not attach any importance 
to that rumor about his engagement to Mehitable Sharp ? 
You should know Horace better than that. I have not 
even mentioned it to him. He would be offended. I 
knew he would be here soon, and then the cloud would 
pass. Cheer up, darling, or I shall laugh at you:^^ 
Hester tried to speak, but her lips were mute. She 
wanted to tell her, now that the letter had gone, of all 
that she had seen and heard ; of the letter she had been 
allowed to partially read ; of the strong professions of 
love he had lavished on one so unworthy of him ; of his 
great joy that the time of his release from an irksome 
duty was so near at hand, and the full fruition of enjoy- 
ment so soon to come. But she could not pain the fond 
heart of her more than sister by the recital of her broth- 
er’s faithlessness. 

No, she could not call it that ; it was a strange fatality 
that had separated them, hard to bear, harder to under- 
stand. Days passed : all the friends looked for Horace 
with the greatest anxiety, feeling sure that he could ex- 
plain all, and bring the old smile back to Hester’s face, 
joy to her heart, and light to her eyes, wliich were now 
dull with weeping. But instead came kind, affectionate 


THE LOVERINGS AND THEIR FRIENDS. 


16 


letters to all but her he loved most and best. Hers 
read, — 


“ Hester, I accept the freedom you have so freely given 
me, and its conditions. We will not meet until you wish 
it. I should have been better prepared for the cruel 
blow you have given me, but I was slow to believe what 
our mutual friend, Mehitable Sharp, so hesitatingly told 
me. And when you neglected to answer my earnest 
letters of devoted attachment, I should have believed, 
but I could not, 0, I could not I But when my last, 
eager, hopeful letter was returned unopened, and my 
sister’s letter came to hand, containing your cold, cruel 
renunciation of me, ray heart grew sick, and my very 
soul faint, with the bitter disappointment of its most 
cherished hopes. Farewell. To-morrow I shall be far 
away from all I have counted dear ; a restless wanderer 
to — I know not where. 

Ever your friend, Horace Manlie.” 

Weeks and months passed away before Horace Manlie 
was again heard from. His unexpected departure, Hes- 
ter’s tears, all, all was a painful mystery to the family 
and friends. All that they could do to cheer and sustain 
Hester they cheerfully did, although their own hearts 
were sore and sad. At length letters came containing 
his address. If Hester had been hasty in dismissing her 
lover, she now hastened to confess her fault. She wrote 
to him of all her doubts and fears, her painful suspense, 
of all she had seen and heard, closing with the words, 
Horace, my dearest and best beloved, come home. I 
shall never be happy till I hear from your own lips that 
I am forgiven.^' 


16 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Letters came and went, the light came again to Hes- 
ter^s eyes, the smiles to hsr lips, and yet something of 
the old buoyancy had gone. Hester was wiser now. It 
was sweet to be reconciled and at peace with her hearths 
chosen one, but the time seemed long, very long to wait. 
Horace had engaged himself as tutor for three years. 
He had the privilege of attending medical lectures in one 
of the best of schools. He must fulfil his engagements, 
he wrote, though the heavens fall. Very soon after the 
mysterious departure of Horace Manlie, Mehitable Sharp 
married Morgan Lentell, a distant connection of the 
family. There was quite a disparity in their ages, as 
well as dispositions. He was fine-looking and amiable, 
but not very energetic. He made a home for his wife 
on a farm (rented, at first) about seven miles from her 
father^ s. Her outfit, although not elegant or extensive, 
was perfectly satisfactory ; as Mrs. Lentell had, like her 
father, a supreme contempt for the beautiful or the orna- 
mental. But more than all things else she prized her 
spinning-wheel, reel, and loom. Poverty stood sentinel 
at their humble door for several years, but he was 
bravely met and conquered. Mrs. Lentell was, indeed, 
the more shrewd and capable of the two, and acted well 
her part as far as the accumulation of property was con- 
cerned. The rest we will leave our readers to learn as 
our story progresses. 

The Loverings and the Manlies had never been on 
terms of intimacy with the Sharp family. But since 
they had proclaimed to the world that Horace Manlie 
had broken his engagement with Mehitable, and fled 
through fear of the Loverings, there had been no com- 
munication between them. They met and passed each 


THE LOVERINGS AND THEIR FRIENDS. 


17 


other without recognition. So that when, two 3^ears 
after, the emaciated form of the gifted young man was 
borne to his childhood’s home to die, and Hester, patient, 
faithful Hester, watched tenderly over him, there were 
no prying eyes or curious ears to disturb the mournful 
pleasure of those few remaining days. None knew how 
much they suffered, nor how much they enjoyed, except 
the immediate family and friends. And as the flickering 
light of that beautiful, manly life went out, and they laid 
their beloved dead in the churchyard near at hand, the 
two families drew nearer and nearer together, forming a 
circle, as it were, around Hester, the stricken, smitten 
one, as if to shield her from the sorrow which had 
fallen so heavily upon them, — but with a more crush- 
ing weight on her. 

It is all a painful mystery,” they said; '' who shall 
fathom it ? A deep, deep wound ; who but the Inflnite 
One can heal it ? ” It was there Hester looked ; and 
after months of weary, prostrating sickness, she came 
forth calmly, and serenely took up the burden of life, 
consecrating herself to God, and devoting her time and 
talents — all — to the work of ministering to the sick 
and suffering of earth. 

And, verily, she will not lose her reward, 

2 


18 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER II. 

Life and its Changes. 

Twenty-five years had not passed over the families, 
which we have introduced to our readers, without making 
great and important changes. The dear old father and 
mother of Charles and Mary Lovering, after years of 
patient waiting, passed on to the reward of the righteous, 
blessing God for the gift of such kind and devoted chil- 
dren, such loving and respectful grandchildren. 

“ It is only the fruit of your own judicious training, 
Hester, the child of their adoption, used to say. Mary 
Lovering had found her a source of never-failing comfort 
and help. “ What should we do without Hester ? was 
a household word ; and many other families said and felt 
the same. All these years she had been like a minister- 
ing angel to the sick and afflicted, not only in her own, 
but often in neighboring towns, whenever home duties 
would permit 

“ Mary and I have six children,^^ ffle used to say, 
laughingly. I don’t know which loves them best. But 
sometimes they think they love their auntie a little rnite 
the best, for I never punish them.” It would be difficult 
to imagine a more pleasant and joyous family circle. 
But Hester began to say the harvest time had arrived. 
Olive was gathered into a home nest of her own, Frank 
next. Edward was at college. Charles, junior, said he 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


19 


must wait and look after his lovely sisters — Harmony, 
the beautiful pet lamb of the flock, and Elivia, the spar- 
kling, brilliant baby of the household. Those were happy 
days at the farm-house, as the children gathered around 
the ample fireplace in the large, old-fashioned kitchen, 
in winter, talking cheerfully, reading, sewing, or singing, 
while the father led with his deep, bass voice and his 
violin. Martha Manlie often made one of their number ; 
for, like Hester, she had been down into “ the valley,’^ 
and seen one nearer and dearer than life go over the river 
and leave her standing alone, with lifers blasted hopes, 
and sweetest, fairest flowers lying faded and fragrantless 
at her weary feet. “ 0 Hester, sweet sister, she used 
to say in the first months of her grief, ‘‘ how is it that 
you are strong enough to bear your own and other peo- 
ple's sorrows ? But we must pass hastily over these 
events, and remain silent about many things that would 
be of interest to the reader. Mr. Lovering is grandpa 
henceforth, and Hester is aunt to everybody. Har- 
mony was her especial darling — from her striking re- 
semblance to her uncle Horace. It was but simple 
justice to call her beautiful. She had small, regular 
features, black, glossy, and very luxuriant hair, and eyes 
full of tenderness, deep and dark. Her complexion was 
very fair, with rosy cheeks, a bewitching smile, and voice 
soft as sweetest music. 

It was not strange, then, that she who was so much 
admired at home should be sought after, early in life, to 
bless and brighten another home. So it was. 

Keep her in the home nest closely, m other, grandpa 
used to say, '' or we shall lose her too soon.^’ 

Changes have been wrought also in the family of Me- 


20 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


hitable S. Lentell. The rented farm has been bought and 
stocked, and increased in size. She has eight children ; 
three boys and five girls. Some have married and gone 
from the din of the loom and the buzz of the wheel. 
Morgan, the eldest son, is his mother’s pride. 

I should like to have them Loverings see him,” she 
used to think. He was, indeed, a noble specimen of 
young athletic manhood ; six feet in height, well propor- 
tioned, with deep-blue eyes, brown hair, and comely 
features. As he excelled in all youthful sports, he was 
a great favorite in his circle. He had also his mother’s 
business talents ; so the care and burden of the farm fell 
naturally upon him. Mrs. Lentell had grown prematurely 
old in . the race for money ; deep lines of care were 
marked on her once comely features. In her family she 
reigned a sort of queen ; her word was their only law. 
Her house was kept in order, and the family were happy 
in their way, by due submission to the ruling power. 
Mr. Lentell was a cipher in his own house. He was 
often reminded of his great indebtedness to his wife for 
the property he possessed. Sickness and death had 
never entered their dwelling. This was owing to her 
excellent management, she thought. She was never sick ; 
why should others be ? Morgan had become a famous 
rafter of wood and lumber to a seaport town not very 
distant, and in that way brought ’much gold to his moth- 
er’s coffers. On one of these occasions, he was taken 
suddenly and severely sick. He remembered the cluster 
of willows, the delightful road, and the neat farm-house 
but a few rods distant. He had often caught glimpses 
of young men and maidens seated beneath the willows. 
Someone might be there now. If not, he might reach 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


21 


the house. This thought nerved his arm till he arrived 
at the spot. Two young and very lovely girls were 
seated there. He hesitated to accost them, but they 

soon discovered his situation, and Harmony Lovering 
stepped timidly and gracefully forward, as she said, — 
You are sick — are you not, sir ? My father’s house 
is near, and my brother is at work in the next field. 
Shall I call him ? ” 

“If you will do so, I shall be greatly obliged,” was 
the reply. “ I have never been so sick before.” Charles 
came at his sister’s call. He saw at once that it was a 
case of cholera morbus, if not of cholera, but he was too 
generous to leave him in this hour of need. Elivia went 
forward to inform the home circle. Harmony lingered by 
the sick man. Simple remedies soon relieved the symp- 
toms, but grandpa prescribed rest and a cup of tea. By 
that time it was night. “ Stop with us till morning,” 
they all said, “ and take a fresh start.” He was nothing 
loath, for in such a family it would be pleasant to spend a 
lifetime. These, then, were the Loverings he had heard 
his mother speak of with such bitter contempt. Surely 
she did not know them. Was it possible that Mrs. Lov- 
ering was about his mother’s age ? How young and fair 
she looked I And Hester, he had thought, was a monster ; 
but no, she was a noble-looking lady, with a calm, sweet 
face. And Harmony ! Never before had he seen or 
dreamed of such a vision of loveliness. What a contrast 
to his uncultivated sister ! what a contrast in everything ! 

“ You said your name was Lentell,” said grandpa, at 
the supper table. “ What was your mother’s maiden 
name ? ” 

“ Mehitable Sharp,” was the reply. 


22 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Ah ! indeed,’’ said grandpa. '' Alary, you remember 
her ; she used to be neighbor. They lived on the place 
where Air. Stearns lives. Charles, they left when you 
were a baby.” Hester’s keen eye rested on the young 
man’s face for a moment, wondering if this noble-looking, 
agreeable young man could be the son of her youthful 
enemy. Was he like her ? She felt uneasy and anxious. 
Her quick eye had seen the glances of bashful admiration 
pass between Alorgan and Harmony, and that the two 
would be fitly mated so far as beauty was concerned. 
But, like one of old, she queried, Gan any good thing 
come out of Nazareth ? ” Reader, this was but the 
beginning of the end of my story. The visits of the son 
of Alehitable Sharp became frequent, and agreeable to 
Harmony, at least. And while sitting under the willows, 
watching the moonbeams dance and flicker in and out 
through the leaves, listening to the ardent professions of 
devotion uttered by the rich, manly voice of Alorgan 
Lentell, little Harmony fell a victim on the altar of sweet, 
young love. She was wholly his. The young man 
soon won a place in the affections of the family, so that 
sooner than they intended, sooner than their judgment 
dictated, they consented to, part with their darling. Hes- 
ter remonstrated when she found Harmony was to board 
with her husband’s mother. But all in vain. 

‘‘ It will only be for a short time,” was the reply ; 
'‘just long enough for them to build.” This silenced, 
but did not convince her of the wisdom of the plan. 
Airs. Lentell was not pleased with her son’s marriage 
into a book family, and that the Loverings. “ What 
good is their lamin’ going to do ’urn ? ” she used to say. 
“ It won’t help ’urn hold a plough, or swing an axe, or 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


23 


cook a dinner, or make a shirt, or darn a stocking to say 
nothin^ about spinnin^ an^ weavin’.’’ But these objections 
were carefully concealed from Harmony and her friends ; 
for Morgan had assured them, firmly and decidedly, that 
he should leave them, and forever, if obstacles were 
thrown in the way of his marriage. The old house had 
grown too small for them. A new one must be built 
immediately ; and who but he could lift the mortgage and 
build the house ? And so the young, inexperienced 
child-wife was actually settled in their midst before she 
knew their prejudices or the real character of the family. 
But she was soon made to feel herself an intruder ; and 
the, future opened out before her like a dark, dreary wil- 
derness, with just one light to illumine the darkness — 
the ardent love of her husband. This, she thought, would 
always be left to cheer her. Her affectionate, trustful 
nature clung to its first and only love, never dreaming that 
what had seemed to her so sacred and pure, so much like 
heaven, could ever be covered up or blotted out by the 
blight and mildew of sin. She did not see the terrible 
monster that was winding his hideous folds around the 
noble form of her husband, paralyzing both body and 
mind. She was used to seeing the wine-cup passed 
around in her father’s house, but intoxication she had 
never seen ; to real intemperance she was a stranger. 
She knew not that her husband’s feet were even then 
ready to slip, and that he was being goaded on by the 
perplexing cares and conflicting influences which sur- 
rounded him. Poor child, she did not know the power of 
the intoxicating cup, or of a strong-minded, managing 
mother over a son taught from childhood to obey. At 
first, Morgan defended his young wife from the insulting 


24 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


treatment of his mother and sister and two younger 
brothers. The elder sisters, being married and well 
settled in life, received her kindly, and treated her with 
respect. 

He astonished them all one day by informing them that 
he had entered into an engagement with an aged widow in 
the neighborhood, to take a deed of her property, giv- 
ing a bond for her proper care and support. That was 
a terrible blow to them, as Mr. Lentell had become dis- 
abled for active labor by a fall, and was depending on 
his son to pay up the debts, build the new house, and 
take care of them in their old age. He, from the first, 
had treated the young wife with respect and tenderness, 
and had often been pained by the cold, unkind treatment 
she received in his house, especially by the bitter taunts of 
his wife ; but he was powerless to improve her condition. 

'' I don’t blame you, Morgan,” was his only reply 
when his son made known his decision ; ‘‘I canH blame 
you, but God only knows what will become of us.” And 
the tears fell slowly down those patient cheeks. 

His mother was silent and sullen, attributing it all to 
his marriage with a good-for-nothing Lovering. 

He would be sorry before long, beg her pardon, and 
come back on her own terms. She was sure he would 
never get on with such a slack, shiftless wife. “She 
didn’t know a distaff from a reel when she come here, to 
say nothin’ about spinnin’ an’ weavin’ and so she let 
them go, apparently well pleased. She was mistaken 
Harmony was young, far too young to assume the duties 
of housekeeping, being only sixteen at her marriage ; the 
consent of her parents being gained only by the assur- 
ance of Morgan that she should be a boarder in his fa- 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


25 


therms family, without care, till matured both in strength 
and judgment. But the kind, motherly, instructions of 
the aged widow enabled her to succeed better than 
might have been expected. She bade fair to make an 
excellent housekeeper. She often referred to this period 
as the two happiest years of her life. 

By that time Mrs. Mehitable Sharp Lentell began to 
fear that her son would not return like the Prodigal of 
old. She saw that she was losing her power over him. 
The farm, in spite of many days^ labor bestowed on it by 
Morgan, junior, was running down ; the debts were not 
being paid, nor the new house built. She changed her tac- 
tics at once, and by a series of skilful manoeuvres, by 
prayers and tears, warnings and entreaties, caused him 
to break his engagement with the widow (who had been 
as a mother to him and his wife), and return, like a fool 
to his folly, a little less than a year previous to her death ; 
which would have left him in possession of competence 
and happiness. 

Morgan Lentell never failed in obedience and respect 
for his parents. That was an overshadowing influence 
with him, while his own family took a secondary place 
in his thoughts. He might have had a deed of all the 
property when he returned ; but regard for their feelings 
induced him to let writings remain as they were, and 
transact business in his father’s name, lending his own 
as security. Harmony and her three little children spent 
the summer at grandpa Lovering’s while the new house 
was in process of erection. It was to be large and con- 
venient for two families ; therefore the confiding wife 
wove many a fanciful web of happiness for herself in the 
future, interwoven, more or less, with dark forebodings, 


26 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


which were more than realized. JMrs. Mehitable Sharp 
Lentell was sagacious enough to have the half she was 
to occupy finished first, and move into it. She then 
insinuated that her son might move his family into the 
old house, until he should be able to finish the other part, 
advising him not to hurry about it; for, said she, ‘'Har- 
mony won’t have any dairy, and it will be better for you 
to pay up that note, that will be due next year, first. 
The old house is enough sight better than it was when 
your father and I commenced housekeeping. Harmony 
has got too many notions now.” Her parents were 
opposed to her moving into the old house. Indeed, they 
would gladly have kept her with them henceforth. “ Let 
her stay where she is,” was her father’s reply to his son- 
in-law, “ till the house is done ; and I will furnish it in 
good style, if you will only sign the pledge, my son.” 

But Harmony felt it her duty to go with her husband ; 
so they gave a reluctant consent. From that day her vas- 
salage to her husband’s mother was complete. Little by 
little she artfully estranged the husband’s affections, and 
left her heart an empty, aching void, with nothing to 
bind her to earth but the love of her childhood’s friends ; 
with nothing to bind her to her husband but the children 
she could not leave, and from whom he would not part. 

The new house was at length completed, and partially 
furnished, and the family were staying in it, when grand- 
pa Lentell sickened and died suddenly while Morgan 
was rafting timber to a distant town. His grief and 
that of his wife were unfeigned, and the little children 
wept when their mother told them grandpa had gone to 
heaven. 

“ Who took him ? ” said Wallace, sobbing. 

“ God,” said the mother. 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


21 


“Why didn^t he take grandma,’^ said the child, bit- 
terly, “ and let my grandpa stay ? 

“Her would be too c^oss up there — wouldn^t her, 
mamma ? and her can’t have her loom — can her ? God 
won’t ’low it,” said Elida, in a whisper. 

“ Hush, hush, children I ” said the startled mother, 
looking anxiously at the door. 

After the funeral, the inhabitants of the “ great house,” 
as it was always called, were thrown into terrible com- 
motion, and the feelings of the community greatly agitat- 
ed, by the reading of a will, written a day or two before 
the death of Mr. Lentell, giving his entire property, new 
house and all, to his two younger sons, and leaving the 
“ Atwood place ” to Morgan ; a little, uncultivated farm, 
with a poor, miserable house and tumble-down barn upon 
it. It was well known that the kind old gentleman would 
not have done such an unjust deed knowingly, and also 
that his reason failed in the very first of his sickness. 
The whole thing was illegal : it would not stand the 
test of law. 

But here, again, the power of the mother was brought 
to bear upon the yielding son. 

“Would he take the law on his own brothers ? and at 
such a time, too? What difference did it make ? They 
should always consider him the same as a father ; he 
would still manage the property just the same.” 

Alas for his credulity ! Six months had not gone by 
when he was compelled to leave all, and retire to the little 
house, where we shall soon find them. He was advised 
to seek redress, and felt disposed to do so ; but a few tears 
and entreaties from his mother changed his purpose. 
Strange infatuation 1 “ Honor thy father and thy moth- 


28 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


er,” was a lesson he had learned most thoroughly ; while, 
“ For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and 
shall cleave to his wife : and they twain shall be one 
flesh, had found no place in his heart ; or that other 
scripture, teaching, If any provide not for his own, and 
specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the 
faith, and is worse than an infidel.’’ 

At the time of grandpa Lentell’s death, the debts were 
nearly paid by the industry and hard labor of Morgan ; 
aided considerabl}’’ by the liberality of father Lovering, 
and a lift now and then from his wife’s brothers. His 
own family had cost him very little in any way. But 
the mason work in the new house was not paid for ; the 
workmen had tried to collect it from the new owners, but 
in vain. They saw plainly that the intoxicating cup, fam- 
ily bickerings, &c., were rapidly breaking down the once 
strong, noble man. He was, even then, almost a 
wreck of his former self. So, in the midst of haying, 
they seized the person of Morgan, and sent him to the 
county jail ; consoling themselves with the idea that the 
mother, who was still the ruling power on the place, 
would not permit him to remain there ; especially at that 
time, when he was so much needed at home, as well as 
on the old place, where he still did much effective labor. 
They were mistaken : they either could not, or would 
not, pay the debt. There was something of the old time 
tenderness in his voice, as he bade his family a sad good 
by, and rode away with the sheriff. 

I shall be back in a day or two. Harmony,” he said 

Good by ; keep up good courage. Mother ’ll contrive 
some way to pay it up right off. I’m going to do better 
when I get back. I’ll send somebody to see to you. Don’t 
go home. Harmony, don’t : I’ll be back in a day or so.” 


LIFE AND ITS CHANGES. 


29 


These few kind words were like dew on the thirsty 
earth : she lived on them many days. On his way to the 
jail, he called on a friend whom he had often aided, told 
him his circumstances, asked him to take care of his 
family until his return. His case excited much sym- 
pathy, and 'several gentlemen volunteered to give bail ; 
which his mother urged him, with tears, to allow. 

But as he was resolved not to pay the debt, he refused 
to return, lie had the liberty of the yard, however, and 
gained the esteem of the jailer’s family, besides good 
wages. And many, very many fondly hoped that this 
experience would emancipate him from his mother, who 
went often to see him, and wept bitterly at what she 
called his obstinacy in not being bailed. But he was 
firm, saying, — 

“ I shall remain here till the term expires, unless you 
pay the debt. You could do it easily if you chose.” 

Marm,” said Abigail, the next day after Morgan left 
home, “ Miller Brake has just gone along. I’ll bet a dol- 
lar he’s gone to see Harmony ; and he thinks so much of 
Morgan, that he’ll go, and provide for her. It’s too bad, 
the little, proud, puttering thing ! I hoped she’d git 
brought down a peg. Let her go home if she wants to, 
and cogitate Latin varbs with her lamed brothers.” 

Fortunately Abigail was the only one in the family 
who inherited her mother’s aversion to books and refine- 
ment of manners. 

“ Nabby, you talk like a fool about her goin’ home. 
Morgan would foller her, an’ we couldn’t git along with- 
out him. Hum, I wish to the land we could. I wish he 
could be prevailed on to send her liome : it would mortify 
thorn Loverings some, 1 guess. But don’t you Iret about 


30 


HESTER STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


Miller Drake ; Til hail him when he goes back, and you 
see if I don’t manage that now.” 

And she did manage it. She told him, — 

** She was glad he had called on poor Harmony. She 
means well enough, but she don’t know how to manage. 
Everything goes to ruin. I shall see that she don’t want 
for anything, though. We are going to send over their 
food, and do their washing; so it won’t be necessary for 
you to call again. We* can see to them ; Morgan ought 
to have known we would. I will go right over with 
some things now. Poor Morgan I I pity him, and 
would contrive to pay the debt, but we have to maintain 
the whole family most of the time, and he might as well 
be there as at home. He’s an altered man, Mr. Drake ; 
yes, an altered man since* he married. I pity him, and 
his family shan’t want while he’s gone, I promise you.” 

So Mr. Drake wasn’t seen at the small house again. 
Perhaps his gratitude wasn’t very deep ; perhaps he was 
glad of a poor excuse for not keeping a solemn promise 
to one who had befriended him in a similar case. The 
resolute, determined character of the elder Mrs. Lentell 
was well known in all that region, as well as her unnat- 
ural and unaccountable prejudice against her son’s wife 
and the Loverings generally. At all events, he should 
have kept his promise, so solemnly given. But the food 
was not carried over, the washing was not done, and the 
family did suffer. 

And Mehitable Sharp Lentell was careful, when she 
went to see her son, not to inform him of Mr. Drake’s 
unfaithfulness or her owji. 

So the poor man felt comparatively easy about his 
family, and made many good resolutions for the future. 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 


81 


CHAPTER III. 

Sad Scenes at the Small House. 

** Hum I You neednH ask me to send for Hester 
Strong, for I shan't. It's nothin' but ‘ Hester,' ‘ Hes- 
ter.' I hate her. She shan't come here to lord it over 
me in my old age." 

Why, what did aunt Hester ever do to injure you ? " 
said a faint voice from the bed, which stood in a corner 
of the low, dark, dingy-looking room. 0, I must have 
her, or I shall surely die, and baby will die, too." 

Hum ! you won't die ; no danger of that. That child 
ain't worth raisin' ; she looks like a monkey. I've made 
gruel 'nuff to last till mornin' ; there's bread and meat 
'nuff for the young 'uns. You've nothin' to do but lay 
there, and let 'um wait on ye." 

0, I am too sick and faint to tell them," said Har- 
mony Lentell, the young and beautiful wife of Morgan 
Lentell. “0, do send for Hester, or mother, or some 
one. Don't leave me alone with these children another 
night." 

I shan't send for none of 'em ; you've been babied 
to death ; 'tis'time you's weaned," said Mrs. Mehitable 
Sharp Lentell, as she turned to leave the house. ‘‘ Cruel 
and unsympathizing," mused the sick one, as she covered 
her face and wept silently. The three children, Winnie, 
Wallace, and Elida, drew nearer and nearer together, 
looking into each other's faces in silent sympathy. 


32 


HESTER STRONG’S LTFE WORK. 


'' I think grandma is real c^oss/^ said Elida. '' I donH 
love her — do you, Wallace ? 

‘'No, I don’t, said Wallace; “she isn’t a bit like 
grandma Lovering or aunt Hester.” 

“ Hush ! ” said Winnie ; “ mamma is very, very sick. 
Don’t you see how pale she is ? She is whiter than the 
sheets. 0, what if God should take her away from us ! ” 
she whispered close to Wallace’s ear. 

“He won’t,” said Wallace. “ We couldn’t live here 
then. We can take care of her.” 

“ So we can,” said Winnie ; “ let’s go and tell her 
about it. Mamma, mamma,” she said, going to the 
bedside, “Wallace and I can nurse you — can’t we? 
Look up, mamma I We love you, all of us.” 

“ Darling, precious children I I know you love me, 
and for your sakes I will try to be calm. Perhaps God 
will send grandpa Lovering to see us ; then all will be 
well.” 

“ Shall I warm you some gruel, mamma, or bathe your 
head ? 0, what can I do to make you better ? ” 

“ You may do both, darling, and then you may put 
little sister to bed, while you and Wallace sit by me a 
while to comfort me. You are my little comforter, you 
know.” 

Baby was a pale, sick, hungry-looking little thing ; the 
whole expression of the face inexpressibly sad. They 
named her little Fossie. The children called her funny ; 
the doctor very gravely remarked, — 

“ Your child is altogether too old of her age, Mrs. 
Lentell. But have you no one to stay with you but 
these children? No sister or friend ?” 

“ My sisters are all married,” sighed the sick one. 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 


33 


“ I am expecting a very dear friend, Miss Hester Strong, 
every moment. I wrote her a note since I was taken 
sick.’^ 

‘‘ Glad to hear it,’^ was the reply. “You will need 
her. Good day, ma’am. If I am wanted, please let me 
know, and I am at your service.” 

“ Yes, you needn’t come unless you hear from us,” 
said grandma Lentell, who entered the room just in season 
to hear the remark. When the doctor had left the house. 
Harmony inquired, timidly, “ Isn’t it almost time for 
Hester to come, grandma ? ” She was answered with 
a derisive laugh. “ I guess not. I burnt that letter. 
You don’t need her. I told you so before.” A deathly 
faintness passed over the sick one for a moment. She 
felt stunned by the cruel blow, but the thought of her 
helpless condition roused her. 

“How could you ? ” she murmured, “0, how could 
you? You will send Levi for her — won’t you? Don’t 
say no,” she pleaded^ 

The reader has already been made aware of the cruel 
obstinacy with which the elder Mrs. Lentell refused to 
send for Hester, or any one to take care of Harmony. 
So she had but little nursing except what her children 
bestowed. She was rapidly sinking, and the wee baby 
grew more wee daily, until grandpa and grandma Lov- 
ering arrived on the fourth day after its birth. “ God 
has sent you,” said little Winnie, as she met them at 
the door. “ Mother said he would.” 

“ What’s this I what’s this ! ” said grandpa, turning 
around hurriedly, and clinching his hand firmly in his 
hair, as usual, when he was surprised or indignant. 
“Harmy, where is the nurse?” “ We’s the nurse,” 
3 


34 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


said little Winnie. Wallace and I is nurse/^ Ah, 
indeed ! said grandpa, “you are nice children. But 
this won’t do, Harmony. Father must look after you 
better than this, dear child. You must come home when 
you are able to ride.” He stooped, took little Elida in his 
arms, stroked her shining hair, patted Wallace’s dark 
locks, praised Winnie, peeped in at the half-starved babe, 
stroked the hollow cheek of his faded daughter silently 
for a moment, and then said in a half whisper, “ Take 
the things out of the chaise-box, mother, and make her 
something nourishing,” nodding towards the bed. “ You 
must stay and take care of her till I get back with Hes- 
ter.” Mrs. Lovering found things in a sad condition. 
She fed the hungry children, and smiled at their joyful 
demonstrations ; but her heart was full, almost to burst- 
ing, as she stood over her child, and combed gently the 
matted locks of hair which were once so beautiful. 

“ I feel so much better I ” said the sick one, languidly. 
“ How good you were to come, when I have been so ob- 
stinate about going home I Now I shall sleep a little. 
You will see to them; and baby, my poor baby, it seemed 
very hungry till this morning, and now it don’t want 
anything. I haven’t any nourishment for it, hardly ; it 
won’t starve — will it ? ” 

“No, dear, I think not; go to sleep now. T will see 
to it,” said the mother, softly. But how that word star- 
tled her I 

Starve ! Harmony’s baby starve I Soon as possible she 
opened the little, blue, silent lips, and poured a few drops 
of warm nourishment into its parched mouth. Again 
and again it was repeated, while the little, cold, wet 
infant was wrapped in warm, dry clothing. But as she 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 


35 


looked around on the destitution of the house, thought 
of the feebleness of the mother, and the almost hopeless 
degradation of the father, she had many doubts and mis- 
givings respecting her duty. 

0, how infinitely better ofi' the little one would be in 
its Father^s house above ! she thought. ‘‘ But I cannot 
let it starve ; no, I must not, if I can prevent it. Poor 
darling, surely the lines have not fallen to you in pleasant 
places. But God is good ; he knows what is best ; I 
must try to save you, and leave the result with him.^^ 
After a few hours of careful nursing, the infant opened 
those strangely beautiful eyes, and raised them to the 
loving face bending over it, as if to express its gratitude. 
Mrs. Lovering was astonished at the change produced 
in the little sallow face by their expression. She combed 
the tangled locks of soft, bright hair, which curled into 
graceful little ringlets, and called the children to see how 
pretty she looked. 

“ 0, she is so heautifuler now ! said the children, 
capering about. “ She was real funny before. 0, Pm 
so glad you came, grandma 1 Now grandma Lentell won^t 
say she looks like a monkey, and make mamma cry — 
will she “I knowed she wasn^t a monkey,^^ said 
Wallace, proudly. ‘‘ Monkey’s has gofhair all over, and 
they hasn’t got such nice little mouths and eyes — has 
they, grandma ? ” '‘No, darling, she is a sweet little 

sister, and when she is strong and well, she will be very 
pretty, I think.” 

Mrs. Lovering was surprised to find that Morgan Len- 
tell had been confined nearly a week in the county jail, 
leaving his family to the tender mercies of his mother 
and sister. They had succeeded, long ago, in convincing 


36 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


him that Harmony was a poor, slack thing ; that she 
wasted faster than he could earn. And so they under- 
took to spend his earnings, and carry in provisions as 
they were needed ; and, in their opinion, it took very 
little to support a shiftless woman and three miserable 
children, and they dealt out the provisions accordingly. 
But for the care and thoughtfulness of grandpa Lover- 
ing’s family they must have suffered ere this. 

‘‘ My father is a naughty man, sometimes,” said little 
Wallace, confidentially, to his grandma, as he was being 
undressed for the night. “ He is cross, and doesn’t love 
mother, nor me, nor anybody. He talks bad words, and 
I don’t love him much. Mother says I must, though, for 
he wouldn’t act so if he wasn’t intoxicated. He tells 
mother to go home to her rich old father, and I wish she 
would. Mayn’t I go home with you, my dear, good, 
kind, little grandma? Mayn’t I?” persisted the child. 
‘‘ Mother will let me.” 

Perhaps so, darling,” said the grandmother. 

Aunt Abigail said mother would go, if it wasn’t for 
her prideness. She wouldn’t — would she, grandma ? ” 

Just then aunt Hester arrived. She was now a maiden 
lady of sixty, and one of those individuals whose name 
and nature are perfectly coincident. Except that her 
black hair was slightly frosted, one would not. have sup- 
posed her more than forty. She was received with dem- 
onstrations of delight by the children, and deep, heartfelt 
joy by the sick mother, some of the earliest and pleg-s- 
antest recollections of whose life were connected with 
Miss Hester, who had been in the family of her grand- 
father, or father, or among their friends, all her life. So 
she was considered one of themselves. Her broad chest 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 37 

shook with emotion for a moment, as she bent over the 
pale face and sunken eyes of her early pet ; but the 
resolute will kept the strong*, sinewy body in subjection. 
Her great soul always obtained the mastery in the sick- 
room, where she was perfectly at home under all circum- 
stances. So grandfather and grandmother Lovering left 
with a safe, satisfied feeling, saying, as they went, — 

Well, if anybody can bring her round, Hester will. 
She will have good care, and Hester won’t allow of any 
interference from any one.” 

Grandmother Lentell called very soon, and made some 
sharp criticisms on the baby and baby’s mother, as well 
as upon things generally. 

Folks have changed since we were gals together,” 
said she to Hester. They didn’t lay in bed only a few 
days then ; I’m sure I never laid by more’n a week in my 
life.” 

Yes,” said Hester, “ they have changed. People 
are not so healthy as they used to be ; and you and I, 
Mehitable, have been highly favored. We don’t know 
what it is to be sick. Let us thank God, and be kind to 
those who do.” 

“ Hum,” says Mrs. Mehitable ; “ some folks can feign 
sickness rather than work. For my part, I’d rather 
work than be sick.” 

Pretty likely,” said Hester, dryly. I’m afraid you 
are not a good judge of sickness. I ought to be, for 
I’ve spent my whole life among it. Folks thsii feign sick- 
ness don’t often pine till there’s nothing left but skin 
and bone. 0 ! ” she exclaimed cheerfully, to change the 
subject, “ there is Mrs. Bartlett, the dear, kind soul. She 
is coming to nurse our little, wee, sick chick. Its poor 


38 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


mother is so low I am going to take good care of her, 
and hope she will rally in a few days. She has had a 
hard time, poor darling.’^ 

“ Hum,^’ said Mrs. Mehitable, trotting her foot vigor- 
ously ; hum, that child ain^t worth all that fuss. Why 
didn’t you let it die, Hester ? You are just the same as 
ever : you don’t look ahead a bit more’n you did when 
you refused a good offer, from a sense of gratitude or 
what not, to them miserable Loverings. You’ll git yer 
pay for it yet,” said she, in a sarcastic, insinuating tone. 

Hester cast a furtive glance at the bed. Yes, she heard 
it all. A bright red spot glowed on each sunken cheek. 

“ I’ve got my pay for all I’ve ever done for them years 
ago,” she said sternly ; and as to looking ahead, I 
try to live for eternity, and not altogether for time. And 
as Harmony is tired out, we won’t talk any more here ; 
but if you will stay till I get back, Mrs. Bartlett, I will 
take a walk with Mrs. Lentell.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mrs. Bartlett ; go, by all means.” 

“ Thank you,” said Hester, as she bent tenderly over 
Harmony, and said some low, sweet, brave words to 
her, arranged the pillows, gave her a drink, and left 
her. Both walked on in silence a few moments, when 
Mrs. Lentell remarked, — 

I suppose you know Morgan never can pay you for 
staying there.” 

Yes, I know it,” said Hester, looking her steadily in 
the face. “ Is money the only thing worth living for ? ” 

“ Why, you’re a fool to spend all your days workin’ 
for nothin’, that’s all ; ” said Mehitable, somewhat discon- 
certed by the steady gaze of her companion. 

Perhaps not,” was the reply ; “ perhaps I am not so 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 


39 


foolish as you take me to be. I was not so stupid that I 
could not look ahead and see that sorrow, disappoint- 
ment, and suffering would come upon Harmony Lover- 
ing if she married your son and went to live with you. 
Was I mistaken — do you think ? Don’t we all know what 
you have done to her ? For shame, Mehitable ! From 
beginning to end you have abused and tyrannized over 
her. She hasn’t complained, dear lamb ! I told her how 
it would be ; so she is as silent as the grave. I told her 
folks you would grind her to the earth. She is too good 
and patient to live with you. Didn’t I know you ? There 
came a time, Mehitable, when I could read you through 
and through, and learned you all by heart, and could 
reckon you up as well as I could a sum in addition. Ah, 
Mehitable, I fear you don’t look ahead any, but you’ve got 
to answer for your conduct to that child somewhere. Her 
folks didn’t believe me. 0, they didn’t know what good 
reason I had to know you. 

What a shame that my poor, dear lamb should be 
treated so 1 My beautiful little Harmony, that might 
have married into the best family in our town, and been 
treated like a lady, as she is ! For shame, Mehitable, to 
ruin your own son’s prospects for the sake of gratifying 
a mean, contemptible, jealous disposition. Be sure you 
can’t go to heaven with that spirit.” She had been 
standing right before Mrs. Lentell, with her great, broad 
palm upon the shrivelled shoulder of the little, wizened, 
wiry-looking woman ever since she turned to address her. 

She had moved her back and forth slowly, and now 
drew her near enough to whisper, — 

Vile woman, you know why I did not marry Horace 
Manlie. You remember the cruel slander you brought 


40 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


to me, and the letters — you remember them. I had not 
learned to read you then ; I believed you. It was you 
that sent him across the ocean, and consigned me to a 
life of honest labor, which is not without its reward. But 
the pain is over now ; I am cheerful, and happier than 
you are. I would not change places with you. Horace 
and I understood each other before he died : we shall 
meet in heaven. Holding her back, and again looking 
her steadily in the face, she said, — 

“ How dared you allude to that painful subject now, 
after all these years, and falsely attribute our separation 
to Harmony ^s folks ? You did it to pain her ; you mean 
to kill her. Go, now, and do not come into that house 
again while I stay in it.^’ 

She released her, and turned to depart ; but Mrs. Len- 
tell, who had been surprised into silence, now found her 
speech. 

“ You shall be paid for this,^^ she said, slowly. ‘‘ I 
don^t bear such insults. Prove what you say about 
Horace Manlie, or I’ll make you.” 

I can and will,” was the calm, steady reply, and 
many other falsehoods, if you wish it. It might help to 
break that tyrannical power you have over Morgan, and 
secure the happiness of my darling, who never saw an 
unhappy hour till she married him. And he would do 
well enough away from you. Shall I prove what I have 
said ? ” 

‘‘ Prove what you like,” was the evasive reply ; ** and 
I shall come into my son’s house when I like.” 

I should think you would call that a house I ” said 
Hester, looking at it significantly ; “or perhaps you mean 
the new house on the hill ; that is his, not yours. You 


SAD SCENES AT THE SMALL HOUSE. 


41 


can’t expect to prosper, Mehitable ; you never will. Soon- 
er or later you will have to meet a terrible reckoning. 
But I must go : I can forgive yqu all the wrong you 
have done me and him. He is at rest, and I am happy in 
making others so. But mind, now, don’t come near Har- 
mony while I stay, unless you repent of your wickedness 
to her, and come to ask her forgiveness. I can’t al- 
low it : she is the sickest person I ever saw left alone ; 
and if she dies, her death will lie at your door. And 
God knows there is guilt enough there now. Good by. 
I wish you well.” 

Hester turned, leaving her standing as if riveted to the 
spot. She never imagined that Hester was aware of her 
duplicity ; ay, treachery and hypocrisy. She never knew 
that Horace and Hester had become reconciled ; that 
Hester had watched over his dying bed, and wept bitter 
tears of regret over the manly form, and sealed by a kiss 
on the noble forehead her vow of consecration to the 
sick and sorrowing. She did not know with what heroic 
fortitude Hester had refused to yield to the entreaties of 
Horace and the pleadings of her own heart to be united 
to him in the last hours of his life, that he might bestow 
on her his entire effects. 

'' Do not ask me, Horace,” was always her tearful 
reply ; I do not deserve it. I will not come between 
you and your lawful heirs.” 

She consented to receive five hundred dollars as a 
dying gift, and had sacredly laid it aside for a time of 
need, which had not yet come. 

“ 0, hum ! ” said Mrs. Mehitable ; ‘‘ then they found 
me out. Well, I suppose it wasn’t right, but I liked him 
in spite of his lamin’. If I’d had more on’t, he would 


42 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


liked me better. 0, hum ! I don’t look much now as I 
did then. He told me once that I was pretty — better 
lookin’ than Hester. He wouldn’t say that now, I 
reckon. Well, it can’t be helped. I knew he loved 
Hester : how red he’d git in the face when I run out 
ag’in her I 0, hum ! How he shook that last night that 
he called, when I told him she was false-hearted ! 0, 

well, he knew better, and so did I ; but I meant to get 
him. Well, I didn’t play the right card that time, sure. 
I’m glad my folks sold out jest as they did, and moved 
off. I’m glad I never went there after he got home. I 
shouldn’t ’ave dared to.” 


THE PAIN AND ITS CUBE. 


43 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Pain and its Cure. — The Confession and 
Revulsion. 

“ How cruel ! murmured Hester, clasping her hands 
Brmlj, and walking with a measured step back to the 
house ; back and forth in the small yard. “ How cruel 
she was to pry open that secret chamber of grief I 0, 
I thought I had buried that great sorrow, with all its 
bitter memories, so deep that no mortal could drag it 
forth again. 

“ That fatal letter I How came she by it ? I should 
have known that it was written to me, for me, every 
word of it, and not for her. 0, I didn’t know then 
that any one could be so false, so treacherous. How real 
it all seems to-day I And yet, more than fort}^ years 
have passed since it commenced, and more than thirty- 
eight since I buried it in the inmost recesses of my soul. 
To-day is the first time I have spoken of it, only to God. 
I laid my burden at the feet of Jesus when Horace died. 
How faithfully He has helped me to bear it all these years I 
But now it comes over me like a flood. 0, Horace, we 
shall meet in heaven ; I believe it. 

''0 thou pitying Father, help me. Thou suffering 
Saviour, comfort me ; even me, and help me to lay down 
this vain regret, and take up the burdens and duties of 
my own chosen work. Help me to think of the blessings 


44 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


left. How kind, tender, and thoughtful the Loverings 
were to me in that day of darkness ! Now I have the op- 
portunity to repay them. Poor, dear Harmony, I fear I 
shall not be able to save her. And why do I desire it ? 
She is one of Christ’s little ones, and if he calls her from 
this prison-house of bondage, I must be willing, hard as 
it will be for us who love her so well.” 

She stopped at the humble door, and resolutely drove 
the shadows from her usually sunny face, and entered it 
with a smile. Baby was having a sweet, satisfied nap. 
Elida was cuddled away in kind Mrs. Bartlett’s arms. 
Winnie and Wallace were at school. All was quiet, and 
yet the sick one could not rest. A tear glistened on the 
long, heavy lashes, as Hester, bending over her, inquired, 
— ‘‘ How is my pet ? ” 

0, auntie,” she whispered, ‘‘ I feel so I The bed is 
all pins, or something. I can’t lie still. What shall I 
do?” 

‘‘ Why, auntie will fix it for you, darling,” was the 
reply. 

‘^0, it isn’t in the bed, I guess ; it is in me. She 
thinks I am feigning it; I am not — am I, auntie ? and 
baby is worth saving — isn’t she ? and we didn’t prevent 
your marrying uncle Horace — did we ? ” 

‘'No, no, darling ; don’t think of what she said. I 
know you are a poor sick lamb. I will take you up in 
my arms, and Mrs. Bartlett will make up your bed all 
clean and nice before she goes.” 

Hester forgot her own sorrows as she took the at- 
tenuated little form in her strong arms, and walked back 
and forth gently a few times, asking her to see from the 
window how beautiful things were looking out of doors. 


THE PAIN AND ITS CURE. 


45 


Then seating herself, and placing Harmony^s head ten- 
derly on her broad chest, she commenced singing, softly, 
the hymn, 

“Jesus, Lover of 1117 soul.” 

Thus she not only soothed the restless invalid, but 
her own soul was refreshed and comforted by the beauti- 
ful hymn. Harmony fell asleep upon that loving bosom, 
where she had so often rested in childhood. 

“ Shall I help you lay her down ? ” said Mrs. Bart- 
lett. 

“No, dear ; I shall hold her till she is refreshed. She 
isn’t as heavy as she was at ten, I verily believe. Now 
I think of it, I wonder where that rocking-chair is that I 
gave her when she moved into the new house. She 
might be laid in that sometimes, if I could find it.” 

“ I can tell you where it is,” said Mrs. Bartlett. 
“ Abigail was having a delightful rock in it when I called 
there the other day.” 

Hester’s black eyes flashed as she inquired, “ Is that 
so ? How came it there ? do you know ? ” 

“It is there for safe keeping, I expect. Why, Har- 
mony isn’t supposed to know how to take care of things, 
because she can’t spin and weave. But I must go 
now, and will come in to-morrow and give baby a good 
dinner.” 

“ You are very kind, and God will reward you,” said 
Hester, “ and your husband will accommodate me great- 
ly if he will let one of the boys come and carry me to 
ride a little way, after the children get home. It won’t 
take more than half an hour, and I will pay him for his 
trouble.” 

“ 0; he’ll like to accommodate you,” was the reply. 


46 


HESTEll STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


The old white horse drove up to the door in good 
season. Miss Hester threw on a sun-bonnet, and took a 
seat in the wagon. 

Drive up to the great house on the hill as fast as you 
can,^’ she said to the boy. Mrs. Lentell seems worse. 
Drive as near the front door as possible. I shall go in for 
a moment. But mind, as soon as I get into the wagon, 
turn round and drive off without delay. 

It was scarcely a moment when Hester returned with 
a large rocking-chair in her arms, and placed it in the 
wagon as easily as if it had been a cricket. 

Wait for me,^' she said to the boy. There is one 
thing more that I want for present use.^^ 

She came back again with a small stand, just as Mrs. 
Lentell, her daughter Abigail, and the two boys, had left 
their supper to see what the disturbance was. 

** Marm,^^ said Abigail, “ see there now I Are you 
goin^ to bear that? I shan’t, if you do.’’ 

You may both have to bear worse things than that,’^ 
said Hester, quietly seating herself in the wagon. ** I 
thought my chair and table would be convenient to use 
just now. There are some other things in there that 
belong to Mr. Lovering. I should have spoken to you 
about them, but Harmony has been worse since you 
called, and I am in great haste. Good by.” 

By this time the carriage was out in the street on its 
way to the small house near the swamp, leaving the 
group at the large house standing there in utter amaze- 
ment. 

Harmony was restless all night. Several times Hester 
took her up in her strong arms, as if she had been an 
infant, and laid her for a little while in the soft easy- 


THE PAIN AND ITS CURE. 


47 


chair. Harmony looked pleased when she saw it, and 
inquired, — 

‘‘ Did you get it for me ? 

“ Yes, dear,^' was the reply. Why didn^t you tell 
me they had it ? 

“ I was so sick I couldn^t think, she said ; besides, 
you know how angry I was when you told me how it 
would be ; and I didn^t like to. 0, auntie, I ought to 
have heeded your warning ; but I loved him, and was 
so young I And father did want me to come back, but I 
wanted to please Morgan. I feared he would be entirely 
weaned from me, and I thought I couldn’t live then. 
But I have,” she said with a ghastly smile ; “yes, I 
have lived to lose that for which I left the best and dearest 
of friends — a happy, peaceful home. We can’t die always 
when we wish to — can we, auntie ? — or live either. 
I have longed to die, again and again ; but the tone and 
manner of Morgan when he left home, make me think his 
heart is still mine — that his love for me, which was 
ardent, has been stifled, not extinguished ; and now I 
want to live, 0, so much ! I wonder why he has not 
written ; he said he would, and I believe he has,” she 
said, in a whisper. “ She wouldn’t allow me that little 
drop of comfort, if she could help it.” 

'' Child,” said Hester, “ I don’t doubt that he has, 
for your father has written him a kind letter ; and I 
am sure he still loves you ; so now try to sleep while 
I write him a note. I will send it to the oflSce by the 
children. You will hear from him ; he shall direct it 
to me.” 

Thus the night wore away at last. It was the most 
restless one Harmony had experienced. J ust what Hester 


48 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


wrote we know not ; but the answer came soon. It was 
full of sorrow and contrition for the past, full of hope 
for the future. He entreated his injured wife to forgive 
him ; told her she was dearer to him than ever before ; 
said he had written twice, but had received no answer. 
He did not say his letters were sent by his mother ; but 
so it was. He closed by saying, — 

My dear wife, I am ashamed to say that my mother 
is the means of all your sufferings. It shall not be so 
any longer ; do not leave me ; stay in the small house till 
I return. These last acts of theirs have opened my eyes. 
Who would have thought she would let me stay here at 
such a time to pay their debts ? or act as she has, in 
many respects ? 

“ They hate you for your superiority ; they rejoice a1 
anything that will annoy you. They have sacrificed 
me to their malice against you and your folks. How 
monstrous ! and what a wretch I have been to allow it I 
0, Harmy, I have been thinking, and my own con- 
duct appears most hateful and cowardly ; yours, beauti- 
ful and forgiving as an angePs. The tables shall be 
turned soon. I have already taken measures to regain 
the property they stole from me. I shall sign the pledge, 
and, as far as possible, redeem the past : so keep up good 
courage, darliug ; we will be happy yet. Kiss little Fos- 
tina for papa. I hope she will never be ashamed of me. 
Tell the little ones that I love them all, and want to see 
them. I shall bring them each a present when I come. 
How good Hester was to write me. She shall not lose 
anything by her kindness. Try to persuade her to make 
her home with us. I mean to have the new house all to 


THE CONFESSION AND REVULSION. 


49 


ourselves. Mother (I can hardly bear to speak of her), 
and Abigail, and the boys can go to the small house near 
the swamp. My lawyer says their fraud and deception 
will give me entire power over them. And they deserve 
it. I donH mean to forget my duty to them ; but I have 
learned that my own family have the highest possible 
claim upon me. 0, why did I not learn it before ! But 
the past is gone, the future only is left us. God grant 
I may make a wise use of it. 

Yours, with much love, 

Morgan Lentell.^^ 

Harmony remained very calm and quiet while her kind 
friend read this letter, looking up now and then to ascer- 
tain its effect. She closed, and both remained silent a 
few moments, when Hester, observing the extreme pale- 
ness of the invalid, stepped to the bed and inquired, — 
Isn^t my darling very, very happy ? Isn^t it all 
bright and beautiful in the future ? ” 

She reached out the little thin hand, which Hester 
clasped in hers, and said softly, — 

“Yes, auntie, all bright and beautiful ; but not here; 
no, not here ; it is too late. I am going, auntie ; don^t 
you see it ? ” 

“ I see that you are feeble,’’ was the reply; “ and I 
hoped this letter contained a cure. Is it not so, darling ? 
Surely you do not wish to leave poor Morgan now, and 
these little ones.” 

“No, auntie, I did not wish it ; but God has helped me 
to be willing,” she said, with a sweet smile. “ How I 
have hungered and thirsted for just such a letter as that 
was I How I have prayed for it I A few days ago I 

4 


60 


HESTEB STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


think it would have made me unwilling to die ; but now, 
thank God, I can leave them all. 0, auntie, 

‘ There is a land where beauty does not fade, 

Nor sorrow dim the eye ; 

Where true hearts wilTnot shrink, nor be dismayed. 

And love will never die.’ 

It is there I am going, auntie. How glad I am that he 
knows how I have been wronged I that he will love my 
memory I Tell him how dear he was to me ; tell him I 
forgave him day by day, and pitied him so much* I 

“ But think,^^ said Hester, ‘‘ how sad it will be for 
Morgan to lose you under these circumstances. Perhaps 
God will yet raise you up to care for your family and 
assist your husband to do right. It will be hard for him 
to break away from old habits alone. 

I know it,’' said Harmony, almost sadly. I have 
thought of it. It has distressed me very much ; but now 
my peace is like a river. 

‘ When we hear sweet music ringing 
Through the bright, celestial dome, 

When sweet angel voices, singing. 

Gently bid us, “ Welcome home,” 

can we, 0, can we, regret to go? ' Dear auntie, uncle 
Horace will be there, too. You say mother is like him 
I shall know him — shall I not ? 

‘ In that land of ancient story. 

Where the spirit knows no care, 

In that world of light and glory. 

Shall we know each other there?' 


Yes, auntie, I feel that we shall.’’ 


THE CONFESSION AND REVULSION. 


61 


She became exhausted, and, while Hester stroked gen- 
tly the soft locks, which had regained something of their 
former brightness under her care, fell asleep. 

Hester seized this opportunity to write a note to Mr. 
Lovering, and also one to Morgan, stating, m as few 
words as possible, her worst fears. 


52 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER V. 

Alone with the Dying and the Dead. — The sad 
Return. 

That night and the next day passed slowly at the 
small house near the swamp. Harmony was sinking 
rapidly. 

I should like to see them once more/^ she said sev- 
eral times during the day, 'Mf it could be so. But it is 
all right. Poor Morgan I what a disappointment I May 
God help him to bear it. Give my dying blessing to my 
dear parents, brothers, sisters, and friends. I love tliem 
all. Poor Morgan ! what shall I say to him ? 0, if it 

could have been, if I could have lived to help and bless 
him, how happy we might have been yet I But it may 
not be. Tell them not to mourn for me. Pm going 
home. How sweet that word is — ‘ home ^ I How it 
rests me to think of it ! 

I hope, darling, that your husband and parents may 
arrive to-morrow. I have sent for them.’^ 

She smiled and said, “ It would be pleasant, but it 
may not be. Tell my parents that, when left alone here 
to sufier those three dreadful nights, I felt willing to 
suffer it all, and more, to regain my husband’s love and 
reformation ; and God has given me my desire — blessed 
be his name ! What more can I ask for myself? These 
children, too, I feel easy about them. How wonderful, 
wonderful it is 1 ” 


ALONE WITH THE DYING AND THE DEAD. 


53 


Towards night she became restless in body, but calm 
and triumphant in spirit. She kissed the children, say- 
ing, fervently, ‘‘ Father, I commit them to thee ; lead 
them not into temptation, but deliver them from evil, for 
thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. Amen.^^ 
Hester could not realize that the dark river was flow- 
ing even at the door ; she could not hear the sturdy 
strokes of the boatman as he neared the “ hither shore. 
She could not see the shining escort coming with songs 
of joy and great rejoicing to release the ransomed one, 
too early crushed by the sorrows and disappointments of 
earth. No, she could not see them, even when they 
folded their golden wings, and waited silently in the small 
house near the swamp. She did not hear their gentle 
whispers, or see their looks of heavenly sweetness ; but 
she felt their presence, and grew strong in faith and 
love. 

Auntie,’^ said the sick one, with a smile, “ it is al- 
most over, and the pain is gone. I am only waiting, 
and weary, weary. You will love my darlings, auntie, 
for my sake ? ” 

Yes, lamb, I will love them while I live. Even as I 
have loved you, will I love them,^^ was the reply. 

And will you, can you, take my little baby, and 
shelter it in those strong, kind arms ; will you ? I re- 
member now what its grandmother said. Will you take 
it ? I would not have it left with her.^^ 

Hester took the little unconscious thing, and folded it 
to her breast, and then said, solemnly, “I will, if God 
permits it.” 

*'He will,” said the dying mother, '‘he will. Let 
me kiss you. I am happy, 0, so happy I and God will 


64 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


see to them, and you will guide their young feet in the 
blessed path.’^ She grew more and more restless. ** I 
am twenty-six at twelve to-night, auntie,^^ she said ; *Mt 
don’t seem but a little while since you used to rock me 
to sleep. Once again, auntie, once again let me lie in 
your bosom, and go, yes, go to sleep.” 

Hester raised her — 0, how tenderly I The shining 
escort smiled approvingly as she folded her to her warm, 
full heart, and said, — 

“ Now, what shall I sing ? ” 

“ Sing, 

‘Rock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in thee.* 

That is what I want now ; but tell me first, auntie, what 
separated you and uncle Horace. Did we, our folks, do 
it, and make you unhappy ? ” 

“No, darling, no ; I never received anything but 
kindness from them. I cannot tell you how it happened 
now : it would distress you. It is all right, darling.” 

“Yes, it is all right,” murmured the weary sick one ; 
“ sing now.” 

When the last stanza was finished, the little hand 
clasped in Hester’s was cold and still, the eyes were 
closed, and weary little Harmony had gone to sleep. 

“Asleep in Jesus,” murmured Hester; “0, how 
sweet 1 My little lamb, you were led early, too early, 
to the slaughter. Why was it so ? How willingly I 
would have shielded you ! and yet I made a mistake. I 
should have given them the proofs of her perfidy, the 
reasons of her hatred to them ; they would have act- 
ed differently then. “ 0 Harmony, my beautiful, my pre- 
cious I Why were all your beauty and sweetness wasted ? 


ALONE WITH THE DYING AND THE DEAD. 66 


scattered by the foul breath of that envious, slanderous 
VT’oman. Why was she permitted to pursue you even to 
the gates of death ? But it is all over, darling, all 
over, now. Sleep on ; she cannot wake or trouble you. 
I was mistaken ; I should have given you the reasons 
for what I told you. I have kept my secret too well, 
far too well ; may God forgive me.^^ 

She laid the little cast-off dress of the soul reverently 
on the bed, and knelt there alone with the dead, as she 
had knelt, more than thirty years before, with the cold 
clay of one dearer to her than life. 

Again she is living over the agony of that night ; 
again her strong form is bowed and quivering with the 
blast that then swept over her, and, as she thought, 
passed away forever, with its power broken. 

0 God, open again that secret chamber,'^ she 
prayed, and bury again those dead, dead hopes, those 
crushing fears, that parting agony.^' 

“ Eock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in thee.” 

As the Sea of Galilee was stilled, hushed to rest by a 
word from the lips of the blessed Master, so the soul of 
Hester Strong was calmed into trusting peace by the 
pitying One. She arose — prepared the dead for the 
silent grave. 

How beautiful she was 1 the weary, sorrowing look 
all gone, the eyes closed as if in peaceful slumber. 
Hester could now look cheerfully on the lovely face ; 
but as she turned away from the dead, she remembered 
the living. 

The noble husband, who had been so near the very 


56 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


brink of ruin, and returned to the threshold of reforma- 
tion — what would be the result of this stunning blow on 
him, the absent parents, brothers, and sisters ? The 
feeble mother, why could she not have died in her loving 
arms ? Hester wept as she gazed on the sleeping chil- 
dren, and thought what might have been, and what 
might now come upon them. How should she tell 
them ? She laid herself down by the helpless baby, and 
tried to rest ; but her heart was too full for sleep. 

A great murmur of indignation ran through the com- 
munity the next morning after Harmony’s death. The 
house was filled to overflowing ; the little children could 
find no quiet place to weep only on the bosom and in the 
arms of dear auntie Hester. 

“ Who will take care of us now ? ” sobbed Wallace. 

Shall I have to go to grandma Len toll’s ? ” whispered 
Winnie. 

Let me stay wis you,” said Elida, clinging to her 
neck. 

‘‘ God, our Father in heaven, will take care of us,” was 
all Hester could say, for her own mind was sorely per- 
plexed concerning them. 

Many tears of pity and affection were shed by neigh- 
bors, and all seemed to vie with each other in kind 
offices now. Why could not some of those who might 
have known the circumstances, have come forward when 
a life might have been saved ? It was the same old story 
— “I did not think ; ” “ I was very busy “ I wish I 
had known ; ” and some could say truly, “ 1 did not 
know.” All felt most keenly that there was one who 
did know — one who had promised to watch over the 
lonely wife in her husband’s compelled and shameful 


ALONE WITH THE DYING AND THE DEAD. 6t 

absence. They knew that neglect and guilt lay at the 
door of the great house on the hill. Mrs. Bartlett kindly 
offered to take the infant to her own house, and care for 
it till it could be better provided for ; which offer was 
gladly accepted. 

Mrs. Mehitable was stunned by the news of Harmony’s 
death. She had been sincere in thinking her not sick : 
she was never sick herself ; why should others be ? But 
death was a terror to her. The still small voice whis- 
pered unpleasant things in the soul’s ear — truths which 
she hated, but could not shut out. She closed the door 
and made it fast, took two letters from their hiding- 
place, read them, and rocked the little, wiry, wizened 
form back and forth, back and forth, exclaiming bitterly, 
“ 0, hum ! everything comes at once. If Morgan should 
go to law, as he promised her, the game will be up. 
But them Loverings won’t have the handling on’t now ; 
that’s a comfort. Hum, hum I I’ve played the wrong 
card this time, too ; I might have let her have these, 
but I didn’t think she’d die. Well, I hated her ; she 
looked like the only man I ever loved, and he deserted 
me ; yes, he deserted me after I had sold myself to the 
evil one, almost, to get him. Hester says them Lover- 
ings were not the cause on’t. 0, well, it can’t be 
helped I Morgan mustn’t know I didn’t give her these ; 
he mustn’t know I left her alone so much. I wish I 
could still that tongue of Hester’s ; I hate her worse 
than ever. I’m glad she didn’t marry Horace ; she was 
a fool not to, though. 0, hum I I don’t know what to 
do first. I can’t do nothing with Hester ; and then them 
Loverings know all about it. Well, I must see Morgan 
first of any on um — that’s all,” she said as she arose. 


68 


HESTER STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


went to the stove, dropped the two letters into it, then 
called her son and bade him harness the smart horse, 
saying to Abigail, '' I must bring Morgan myself, or the 
fat will all be in the fire. YouM better go over ; it will 
look better.’^ 

“ No, I shanH,^’ was the prompt reply ; I don^t go 
for looks. 

Mrs. Mehitable was too late. Hester’s note had 
informed him that Harmony was dying, and the friends 
he had made while there hastened his departure. Their 
hearts were filled with the deepest pity by his grief and 
remorse. 

“ It will be all over with me,” he said, hopelessly, to 
the jailer’s family, — all over with me, if she dies. ' I shall 
he a murderer ; I can’t bear up under it. If I knew she 
was dead now, I would drown this misery in rum ; yes, 
I couldn’t help it. 0, God I what a wretch I have 
been.” 

They saw that it would be useless to reason with 
him ; they said kind, comforting words, and bade him a 
sad good by. Mr. Lovering had informed him of his 
mother’s course towards Harmony ; of her dismissal of 
Mr. Drake ; neglecting to send for Hester ; of the des- 
titute, suffering condition in which he found her. 

“ And now if she should die before I reach her 1 ” 
He shuddered to think of it. 

With a heavy heart he turned his face homeward, and 
hurried on till he came in sight of Mr. Drake’s. 

Stop here,” he said to the driver, “just a moment.” 

He strode up to the door with a face so pale and hag- 
gard that his old friend scarcely knew him. 

He caught him by the arm, and said, hoarsely and hur- 


THE SAD RETURN. 


59 


riedly, “ M .ller Drake, do you remember how I sacrificed 
the hard-earned wages of months to save you from im- 
prisonment and dishonor ? Do you remember it ? What 
did you promise me then ? 0, what did you promise 

me when I went forth to pay a debt which was not 
mine ? You have been false, false as — You knew my 
mother, or might have known her, better than I did. My 
wife is either dying or dead ; your neglect helped to kill 
her. I called to curse you, and you will be cursed 1 

He turned and went hastily back to the carriage, re- 
fusing to listen to Miller Drake’s excuses, simply saying, 

You were false — faithless and false.” 

Hester was terrified at the wild, hopeless face of 
Morgan, which peered in at the door about noon. He 
rested his eyes on his dead wife for a moment, and 
then disappeared with a stifled groan. Hester called 
to him, little Elida called, but on, on he went to- 
wards the great house on the hill. They were greatly 
perplexed, and a friendly neighbor went in pursuit of 
him. In a short time, grandpa Lovering and wife 
arrived. Calmly they looked upon the silent, upturned 
face ; tearfully they listened to the story of her dying 
hours. And when Hester inquired if they had met Mor- 
gan on the way, they replied that a man, who might have 
been he, leaped over the wall and fled hurriedly out of 
sight. 

“ 0, it was he I” said Hester ; he could not bear to 
meet you.” 

She showed them his letter to Harmony, which had 
been lying beneath the pillow. They read it, and wept 
afresh. 

“0, if it might have been I ” they said ; 'Mf she could 


60 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


have lived to realize those bright, fond hopes we all 
indulged I all but you, Hester ; you seemed to be clearer 
sighted than the rest of us.’’ 

But I was once as blind as the blindest concerning 
Mrs. Lentell,” she replied. ‘‘ 0, Mary, when this is over 
you shall know my secret, which I have so stubbornly 
kept. But think you Morgan will adhere to his good 
resolutions ] ” 

I cannot tell,” said grandpa ; “ I fear not ; but I 
must seek him and obtain permission to bury this dust 
with her kindred, and among those who knew and loved 
her. Twenty-six years old to-day I Ten years a wife, 
and four times a mother,” he mused. “ 0 that I could 
recall the past I ” 

Morgan arrived at the great house in a state bordering 
on insanity. Bending over the affrighted Abigail, he 
exclaimed, vehemently, Murderer 1 where is your ac- 
complice, your mother ? Where, where is she ? Tell 
me before I — ” 

Just then the friend who had followed him arrived, 
and answered the question Abigail was too much alarmed 
to answer. 

‘‘ She has gone for you.” 

She needn’t,” was the sharp reply ; “ the work is all 
done. She is dead ; and now I shall drink, and drink, 
and drink, until I forget it all. That’s what she herself 
has taught me. When Harmony used to plead with me 
not to drink the damning beverage, she used to say, 
* Morgan, I would have my rum, in spite of her ; you 
work hard and need it.’ Didn’t I mind her? didn’t I ?” 
he groaned. Yes, I minded her, wretch that I was, 
and if there is a God in heaven. I’ll mind her still. She 


THE SAD RETURN. 


61 


shall eat her own words, and drink the bitter cup she 
meant for another. 0, Harmony, my patient Harmony, 
he said, in a wild, despairing tone. If I could have 
heard you say you forgave me, if I could have atoned 
for the past, I might have been a man again, a father to 
our children ; but now it is no use, no use.’^ 

‘‘ But she did forgive you, and loved you to the last,^^ 
said the friend who had followed him. “ Come, go and 
see how peacefully she is sleeping, and receive her dying 
message. 

He dropped into a chair, covered his face for a 
moment, and then said, mournfully, “ I can^t, I can’t look 
at her. I helped to kill her. 0, she was nothing but 
a child — a trusting, beautiful child — when I brought 
her here. I cannot see her, or meet her parents. They 
are there ; how they must hate me ! I hate myself, and 
God hates me I I must drink. I haven’t tasted rum 
these three weeks, and never meant to again ; but I 
must now,” he said, fiercely. 

He opened the closet, where the full decanters always 
stood, and drank like one determined to forget, in spite 
of his friend’s remonstrances. 

He reminded him of his children, of friends who loved 
him, of happiness, and respectability in the future. 

“ Friends ! ” he exclaimed, in a mocking tone. ‘‘ If 
my own mother is so false, what can I expect of others ? 
If she and Abigail would sacrifice my happiness to spite 
an innocent woman, where in the wide world, think you, 
can I find happiness ? It is all a sham. No, they have 
helped me make this bed, and now they must lie in it.” 

He soon sank into a state of helpless intoxication, 
from which he could not be aroused. 


62 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Poor, miserable, mistaken mother ! you have been 
playing a dangerous game. You commenced early in 
life to make false moves, regardless of the feelings or 
sufferings of others ; you moved on, and now you must 
reap as you have sown. You gloried in the firm, steady 
reins with which you guided your family. You gov- 
erned them by fear ; they obeyed because it was more 
comfortable to do so. Selfishness was the groundwork 
of your power over them. You laid a sandy foundation 
to stand on in the decrepitude of old age ; you forgot 
that any government based on fraud, deception, and un- 
godliness must perish ; and that truth, justice, and 
humanity were the only firm foundations to build upon. 
You forgot that righteousness exalteth,^^ while sin is 
a reproach."'^ Alas ! you will find that the way of the 
transgressor is hard. By the untimely death of your 
son’s wife, and the terrible fall of your son into inebriety, 
you are left in possession of your ill-gotten property ; but 
a curse is resting upon it, and in your own breast you 
have the witness of your wicked deeds. Yes, your con- 
science will ever accuse you, and your firmly m^sguided 
children will prove a terrible scourge. 

Mr. Lovering was allowed to follow his own plans 
without molestation. Slowly the little procession moved 
along ; sadly the friends of other days gathered around 
the sweet flower, so early faded. Tenderly they laid 
her in the bosom of mother earth, “ under the sod.” 

“ O spirit, freed from bondage, 

Rejoice ; thy work is done ! 

The weary world is ’neath thy feet, 

Thou brighter than the sun ! 


THE SAD RETURN. 


63 


“ Awake, and breathe the living air 
Of our celestial clime ; 

Awake to love that knows no change. 
Thou who hast done with time. 

** Awake I lift up thy joyful eyes ; 

See 1 all heaven’s host appears ; 
And be thou glad exceedingly, 

Thou who hast done with tears. 

** Awake I ascend ! Thou art not now 
With those of mortal birth; 

The living God hath touched thy lips. 
Thou who hast done with earth.” 


64 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER VI. 

What became of the Children. — The Midnight Call. 

Harmony^s death, and the trying circumstances attend- 
ing it, hastened an event which had long been dreaded 
by the family. Consumption had been kept from fasten- 
ing its fatal fangs upon Mrs. Lovering by the utmost 
care and vigilance. 

Under the pressure of this great and peculiar trial, she 
failed very fast. The motherless children of her daughter 
she looked upon as worse than orphaned ; she saw their 
father rushing down the awful precipice of inebriety ; 
he would only be a shame to them — a terror, and not a 
protector. 

She shuddered when she thought of them with their 
grandmother Lentell. Her own house was being filled 
with her son’s children. The son’s wife evidently thought 
Harmony’s children intruders, and treated them as such. 
With the true instincts of a woman, she saw a life of 
suffering and danger before them ; and the feeling that 
she was helpless — unable to save them from it — was 
depressing. 

Again and again she was assured by her husband and 
children that they should be taken care of. She saw, 
better than they did, the difficulties in the way. 

“ If Hester was young,” she used to say, ** I should 


WHAT BECAME OF THE CHILDREN. 


65 


feel easy about them. The remainder of Harmony’s 
portion would support them until old enough to earn a 
living. If they could all be with her, I should feel satis- 
fied. Old Mrs. Lentell would not trouble them, I 
think.'' 

Never fear for those children," Hester used to say, 
cheerfully ; “ their dying mother committed them to One 
who is strong and mighty — even the orphan's God. 
Can you not trust them in his hands ? They will have 
trials, disappointments, and temptations, as who does 
not ? but they will come oif victors, every one of them. 
They will have to struggle with poverty and disgrace on 
their father's account; but it will make them strong and 
self-reliant. Have you forgotten how destitute I was 
left at an early age ? Has my life been more dark and 
cheerless than that of thousands who started with 
brighter prospects ? Do you suppose I have forgotten 
who it was that made my childhood like a summer's 
day ? Believe me, Mary, I have a pleasure before me, 
and not a task. I wish I was young, for their sakes ; 
but for myself, it seems good to near my glorious home. 
How often the sweet voice and dying words of our dar- 
ling come back to me in the still watches of the night ! 
0, Mary, she looked so much like Horace that it seemed 
like losing him again when she died. The sweet 
verses she repeated contained the very essence of our 
last conversation together. Let me repeat her words 
again, and then tell me, Mary, if we can regret to go 
when such blessedness is in store for us. We shall not 
only see our Lord, and be clothed in the brightness of 
his ineffable glory, but we shall meet the loved and lost. 
Ay, we shall know them, too ; I feel assured of it. Yes, 
5 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


those that are one in Christ on earth, shall be one in Christ 
in heaven. 

‘ We shall know each other there.’ ” 

Your words comfort me,^^ said Mrs. Lovering. “ My 
faith grows brighter. Repeat that last verse again ; 
yes, I think it will be so. We shall arrive there by 
many different roads, some dark and thorny, some on 
beds of down, some on straw, perchance ; but it will be 
all the same when we reach the haven of rest, whether 
the voyage be rough and full of peril, or smooth and 
prosperous. Don^t you think so ? 

No, not all the same, for the torn and tempest- 
tossed, the benighted traveller, will be filled with a ful- 
ness of joy and exultation which the peaceful, prosper- 
ous voyager can never know. Mary, we must be weary 
before we can fully appreciate rest ; we must drink the 
bitter cup of sorrow before we can experience the ful- 
ness of heavenly bliss. It must be so, for ^ He doeth all 
things well.’ ” 

As yet all the children had remained at grandpa Lov- 
ering’s. It was pitiful to see the little things trying to 
be so good and patient for fear of being sent to grandma 
Lentell’s. They said but little about their mother, ex- 
cept at night, when auntie Hester put them to bed ; then 
the pent-up feelings must find vent. Their artless talk 
often brought tears to those eyes which were wont to 
weep with those who weep, and sometimes, as the chil- 
dren knelt around her for their evening prayer, little 
Elida would say, — 

P’ease God, let me stay wis auntie ever so long, and 
don’t die her, too, as mamma did. Dear God, don’t, for 
Jesus’ sake. Amen.” 


WHAT BECAME OP THE CHILDREN. 


67 


This simple prayer always seemed to send a wave of 
uncontrollable grief over Wallace and Winnie. It re- 
minded them that the time was drawing near when they 
must be separated from her and from each other. 

0 ,” said Winnie on such an occasion, “if God is so 
good, why didn’t he let Wallace and I go to heaven with 
our sweet mamma when there was nobody to want us here ? 
I heard aunt Judith say so to-day. She said she couldn’t 
have us round in the way. 0, I have tried to be so still 
and good, and play with her baby when I wanted to go 
out of doors ! Don’t you pity us, auntie ? ” she sobbed. 

Hester moved the wondering baby, and took her in 
her arms to comfort her, while Wallace and Elida still 
knelt, weeping. 

“Pity you? Yes, darling, and God pities you. He 
will make it all right, dear. He loves you, and we 
all love you. He has a nice, snug little nest for you 
somewhere. He wants you down here for something ; 
perhaps it is to take care of me when I am old ; perhaps 
it is to watch over this little kitten when I am gone 
home. Let me lay her in your arms ; see, she is almost 
smiling at you I ” 

The children’s attention was now turned upon baby. 
Soon Elida was seated on the other knee, playing with 
baby’s tiny feet. 

“ I want a place, too,” said Wallace. 

“ If auntie had two laps, you could has one,” said 
Elida. 

“ He shall have my place,” said Winnie ; “he is the 
youngest.” 

Baby was delighted at the novelty, and watched the 
proceedings with her large, calm eyes, with quiet satis- 
faction. 


68 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


When the children's minds were suflSciently diverted, 
Hester gave them their good-night kiss, and they retired 
to the sweet, refreshing sleep of childhood. Not so with 
Hester ; the failing health of her dear friend, Mrs. Lover- 
ing, whom she had loved as a sister, together with the 
care and anxiety of providing suitable places for the two 
eldest children, weighed down even her elastic spirits. 
And then there were the little ones — her own peculiar 
charge — to care for. She wished, if possible, to secure 
them all against the interference and domination of Mrs. 
Lentell ; but how that could be done was a question 
which had caused her many sleepless nights. 

‘‘ She will not meddle with them till they are old 
enough to work,^’ she used to say to Mr. Lovering ; 

but they must be placed entirely beyond her control, 
if possible.^ ^ 

As she sat revolving the matter over and over in her 
mind after the children were asleep, she could not refrain 
from weeping, until her broad chest shook with emotion. 
She had forgotten the little wise, old-fashioned baby in 
her lap, who had been looking on in blank amazement. 
At length she was aroused by a little frightened, quiver- 
ing cry. 

‘‘ Why, darling, darling pet,^^ she said, softly, tender- 
ly ; '‘precious birdie, did she think her auntie was 
crazy ? Did she, darling one ? said Hester, smiling 
through her tears. " Naughty little dirlie, not to let 
her auntie-mamma cry her cry out.’’ 

Thus she soothed and quieted the little thing, and then 
sung a gentle lullaby till baby was fast asleep. 

Noble, conquering Hester ! self-denying, loving Hes- 
ter I Did you see the infant’s angel smile, 0, so sweet- 
ly ! as he made the record of the day ? 


WHAT BECAME OF THE CHILDREN. 69 

Did you catch the faintest echo 
Of the music soft and clear, 

Floating round the sainted mother 

When you soothed her children’s fear? 

Did you hear the glad hosannas 
When you kissed away the tear? 

Hester, tliere’s a crown preparing; 

Many, many stars are there : 

In that crown shall shine those children, 

Bright, and beautiful, and fair. 

0, Hester, you are rich in heaven. Yours are the 
gold-bearing bonds of loving words and deeds. There 
will be no discount on your treasures, Hester ; they are 
secure in God’s eternal safe. ‘‘ Inasmuch as ye did it 
unto these little ones, ye did it unto me.” 

Open thine eye of faith, 0, Hester, beloved of God, 
and chosen ; for this thy last shall be thy crowning 
work. Only believe, and thou shalt see the desire of thy 
large, unselfish heart accomplished concerning these 
children, for thy prayers have been accepted in heaven, 
and even now the answer is at hand. 

** Hester, Hester I ” called Mr. Lovering, cheerfully, 
just as she was laying little Fostina in bed. 

Hester^s heart gave a bound, a throb, and then stood 
almost still, as she hastened down stairs. 

Here are the papers,” said he, meeting her at the 
door ; “ they are ours, thank God ! ” 

‘‘ Thank God I ” ejaculated Hester, fervently ; ^‘then 
they are ours. Precious children ! At this moment I 
would give a great deal to be young and rich. But 
riches often prove a snare, or take to themselves wings 
and fly away when most needed ; youth soon passes 
away, and beauty is vain. The wise man says, — 


‘ All is vanity and vexation of spirit.* 


70 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


But this is a happy hour for me. I must make the best 
use of my time while I stay here. Who knows but I 
may bring them a good piece on their way yet ? How 
did you find Morgan ? 

0, don’t ask me ; it is too sad. He seems to have 
but one aim, or object, and that is to torment and pun- 
ish his mother. The suit at law was stopped by their 
giving bonds for his support.” 

Is that so ? ” said Hester, sadly. “ Poor woman, 
she will reap a fearful reward for her life of sin and self- 
ishness. Now, Mr. Lovering, my plans are all made. 
Don’t oppose me — will you ? I have thought it all 
over. I shall bu}’’ half of grandpa Manlie’s house. They 
are upwards of ninety, you know, and cannot have much 
longer to stay here. They wish it, and say it will be a 
comfort to have me with them. Their daughter loves 
my children (don’t be jealous now ; you have lots besides 
these), or, if you choose, our children. Will that do 
better ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said grandpa ; I shall claim a share in them, 
and wish that I was situated so that two of them could 
stay here. But we have never quarrelled with J udith, and 
don’t mean to ; she has her good qualities, but patience 
and benevolence are not among them. If it were 
Edward’s or Frank’s wife, they could stay and wel- 
come.” 

‘‘ Well,” said Hester, “ never mind. I know Judith ; 
they can’t stay here ; besides, Mary is not able to have 
them ; they must go as soon as possible. I want them 
all for a few months, until this great sorrow has worn off 
a little. So take us to the village to-morrow — won’t 
you ? .Change of scene will do them good. It would 


THE MIDNIGHT CALL. 


71 


have broken your heart to hear them talk to-night. 
They — that is, Wallace and Winnie — know they are not 
wanted by their aunt ; they feel it.’^ 

Poor lambs I said grandpa. “ But what shall we 
do without you, Hester ? What will Mary do ? 

The girls must come home in turns, said Hester. 

I should love to remain, but duty calls me away.^^ 

But you can’t think of keeping them all,” persisted 
grandpa; ‘'it is too much. Their uncles and aunts 
must take Wallace and Winnie.” 

“ Yes,” said Hester, “ I do think of keeping them all 
for the present. Some time they may have to go, but 
not now. Don’t urge ; the little things have had as 
much suffering as they can bear. We will see what can 
be done for them in the spring.” 

Mrs. Lovering saw the wisdom of Hester’s plan, and 
cheerfully submitted. It was pleasant to think that in 
all probability Hester would, after all, be with her aged 
parents to soothe their declining days. Horace, to be 
sure, would not be with her ; but they would meet him 
on the other shore. Mr. Manlie refused to take a cent 
for the house, but said to her, solemnly, as he placed the 
deed of one half of it in her hand, — 

“ Take it ; it should have been yours long ago, my 
daughter. God bless you, and spare you to bless others 
for a long time yet.” 

And so the children found a home for the time. 
Would that it could have been a permanent one for 
them all. 

“ Passing away ” is written upon all things below ; so, 
when the summer flowers departed, and the autumn 
leaves fluttered in the chilly wind, when the green grass 


72 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


lay crisp and silvered, Mary M. Lovering, the loving 
daughter, sister, wife, and mother, went to sleep on 
earth — to wake in heaven. None knew the hour of her 
departure. They came for her in the silent watches of 
the night, and bore her away without a sigh, a groan, or 
a sad farewell. 

You have rested nicely to-night, mother,’^ said the 
tender husband ; but no answer came. ** Mother ! ’’ and 
the voice was slightly startled. Mother 1 — bending 

over her ; but there was no voice — she was gone. 0, 
yes, she had gone so quietly, so peacefully, she was 
resting so profoundly, that the tears and sighs of those 
who loved her did not disturb her rest. Dear weepers, 
would you have it otherwise ? Would you call her back 
to buffet the turbulent waves of the dark river? Would 
you, for a few, last, gasping words, call her back to 
struggle with the mighty conqueror of life, and see her 
yield, reluctantly, perhaps, through fleshly fear ? 

0, no, you would not. Thank God, rather, that she 
is so safely through ; that she is so soon with Christ, who 
careth for you. 

“ Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in 
the morning. 

“Weep on— and wait.” 


THE CHILDREN’S PRATTLE. 


73 


CHAPTER VII. 

Tite Children's Prattle. — The Wife’s Burden, or a 
Synopsis of Mr. Giles. 

Looking out of the window, watching the carriages, 
the school children, the girls from the mill as they went 
and came, went and came, six times a day, six days in 
the week, in sunshine and rain, was fine entertainment 
for the little country children. 

It pleased them ; it made the days seem short ; it was 
something new. It is no use to chide these children 
for their love of novelty : we all love it. 

‘‘ This is a nicer place than the country,” said Wal- 
lace ; '‘don’t you think so, auntie Hester? There is 
more boys, and horses, and funny carts, and stores, and 
a factory with a bell to it. I should like to pull the 
rope and make the bell dingle. Say, auntie, isn’t it 
nice ? ” 

“Yes, dear, this is a pretty place, and there are a 
great many things to amuse children from the country. 
But don’t you think you will miss the merry birds and 
flowers, the orchard and the berry pasture, the little 
brook where your water-wheel is ? ” 

Wallace looked serious for a moment, and then 
said, — 

“ Poh ! no, indeed ! My water-wheel was a little thing ; 
they’ve got a bigger stream here, with a water-wheel on 


74 


nfcSTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


it larger than our barn. The man let me see it the 
other day ; he said it would smash me up though, if 1 
went near it.^^ 

“ That is so/’ said Hester. “ You must not go near 
the mill without my permission. There was a little boy 
killed there once.” 

“ Tell us about it,” cried the children in chorus. ** Tell 
us, auntie.” 

0, he disobeyed his parents, and went in swimming, 
and was carried over the mill-dam and killed.” 

** 0, dear me 1 ” said Elida. Wasn’t he sorry he 
went and got in, and didn’t mind better ? Was he 
all dead when he got down to the bottom of the dam, 
auntie ? ” 

“Yes, dear, and terribly bruised ; it was a sad sight 
to see.”- 

Well,” said Wallace, thoughtfully, “I’m glad it 
wasn’t me. Can I play on the bridge sometimes, if I 
will be careful not to fall in the water, or tear my 
clothes ? ” 

“ Yes, dear,” said Hester, smiling ; “ the bridge is be- 
low the dam. I think you may go there safely, pro- 
vided you will be careful.” 

“ The mill is a buzzing thing,” said Winnie, very 
demurely. “If it would stop buzzing, I should like to 
work there ; but the noise makes me crazy. Don’t you 
think it is hateful, auntie ? It keeps saying things.” 

“Does it, sister?” said Wallace; “what does it 
say ? ” 

“ Why, in the spin-room it says ' buzzy-uzzy, buzzy- 
uzzy ’ all the time ; and in the weave-room it says 
* clap-it-to-clap, clap-it-to-clap.’ Why, the looms ain’t 


THE WIFE’S BURDEN. 


76 


a bit like grandma LenteU's ; but I felt as if she was 
going to box my ears every minute while we staid there ; 
and after we got home, I kept hearing it, and after I 
went to bed it was ' clap-it-to-clap ^ till I went to sleep ; 
and in the morning my head felt sick.’^ 

“ Well,^^ said Elida, encouragingly, ^haps it will be 
stiller when it grows older ; then you can work there. 
Fse doin^ to spin when l^se old, so I can have them 
pretty things they wind the thread on to play wis. 
Won’t it be funny ? And, Winnie, if you work in the 
weave-room, you can has some too : why, I seed a boy 
carry a bushel full up there ; and, Wallace, when you’s 
big enough to carry the basket, you can has some ; and 
then we will bring some to totty mite, and aunty will let 
us play wis them. 0, how funny 1 ” and Elida laughed 
and clapped her chubby hands gleefully. 

Baby jumped and crowed, which was always the 
prelude to a chorus of happy voices, and a good time 
generally. 

Hester laughed heartily at Elida’s concluding speech, 
though feeling somewhat sad. It grieved her to think 
that the children must soon be separated. The dear old 
people in the other part were kind and patient, but she 
knew they needed rest and quiet at their time of life ; 
besides, she did not feel able or competent to look after 
them all. 

She wished she could have kept Winnie instead of 
Elida, she would have been such a help about baby. 
Elida’s disposition seemed to have caught the brightness 
of her mother’s life, while living with her husband in 
the aged widow’s family. Her heart was like a little 
fountain of sunshine and gladness. She would make 


IQ 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


friends more readily than Winnie, who was timid, care- 
taking, and sensitive, but amiable and unselfish. But 
her aunt Elevia Giles said her husband was unwilling 
she should take one of the children, unless she could 
have the eldest. 

‘‘ He thinks I couldn’t get along with the work ; 
should have to hire washing, sewing, &c,, for some time. 
He says Winnie could help a great deal now, and pretty 
soon she would be old enough to — ” 

But he seems to be looking at only one side of the 
question,” said Hester. Now, I love all these children 
for their mother’s sake, and presume you do ; but if you 
go to making all those nice calculations about the prob- 
able benefit of adopting one of them, it will be a failure. 
Love, mutual love, and benevolence, must be the basis of 
such a relation, and not self-interest, or it will prove a 
bitter mockery, to the child at least. If you take one of 
them from good and noble motives, such as your grand- 
parents had in adopting me in my infancy, why, a bless- 
ing will grow out of it ; otherwise it will be a snare. 
Don’t you think so, Levie ? ” 

Yes, Hester, I do ; I am sure grandpa’s adopting 
you has been a real blessing to us all. What should we 
have done without you ? But Mason and I don’t think 
alike about many things, and it don’t do for me to op- 
pose him since we were married, unless I wish to live 
in a quarrel. I should prefer Elida ; there is just differ- 
ence enough between her age and Unie’s. They would 
soon be companions for each other, and we are abun- 
dantly able to bring them up. I wish Mason was differ- 
ent. Riches are worse than useless, unless they can be 
used without so much — ” Here the young wife bowed 
her head and wept. 


THE WIFE’S BURDEN. 


n 


Hester was astonished, Elevia had not been two years 
married : she had supposed her very happily situated in 
all respects. True, she had noticed a change in her, — a 
care-worn, weary look, — and had attributed it to the 
responsibilities of housekeeping, or ill health. She 
had seen but little of Mason Giles, and thought him 
remarkably pleasant and perfectly devoted to his amiable 
wife. Hester thought a great deal in those few mo- 
ments. She had known Elevia from her very birth ; if 
there was trouble in her lot, she felt sure the fault was 
not hers. She had become so accustomed to human 
nature in all its moods and tenses, could read it so 
correctly that she did not hesitate mentally to pronounce 
Mason a mean, miserly, wilful, deceitful man. How 
could she let her little sensitive Winnie go into such an 
atmosphere ? 

“ I am sorry for you, Levie,^^ she said aloud. So 
all is not gold that glitters. Poor child, then you have 
a skeleton in your nice home. Keep it out of sight as 
much as possible, darling. Never look at it when you 
can avoid doing so. Every look will make it more 
hideous. They have something of the kind everywhere, 
dear. I have learned a great deal going among the sick. 
Child, if we would be happy, it must be in spite of 
something. It must be by shutting our eyes upon some 
things, and resolutely fixing them upon others more 
pleasant and agreeable. 

But, auntie, you don’t think a woman can be happy 
in spite of her husband — do you ? ” said Elevia, tear- 
fully. It seems monstrous to think of it ; how can 
she ? ” 

** In many ways,” was the quiet reply. “ If wo 


78 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


truly love God, and trust in Christ, no mortal can make 
us entirely miserable. There is a peace which the world 
can neither give nor take away, you know ; and, as I 
said before, if you have a grief, don^t nurse it, or it will 
become too mighty for you. If you have a cross, take 
it up bravely, or you will stumble over it ; if a skeleton, 
shut it up, hide it, or with patient labor mould it into an 
image of beauty ; or, if this cannot be done, cover it 
as much as possible under the beautiful mantle of charity, 
* which sulfereth long and is kind.^ But don’t try to do 
this in your own strength, dear ; you cannot. But 
there is a promise, ' As thy day is, so shall thy strength 
be.’ Lean upon it, Levie ; trust in the ‘ elder Brother ; ’ 
believe, and ye shall find rest.” 

0,” said Elevia, “ I did not mean to speak of this. 
I have never spoken of it before ; but I am so disap- 
pointed, so distressed, that it seems to me I can’t bear 
it alone much longer. I know what you say about the 
promises of God is true, but I am not a Christian — I 
wish I was. But even then, I should need earthly friends 
to counsel and comfort me. Mother has been so feeble 
ever since my marriage, that I could never speak of 
it to her. It would have been such a comfort if I 
could I ” 

'‘Yes, dear, so it would; but I was your mother’s 
friend, and yours too : speak to me freely and without 
reserve ; perhaps I can help you. ' Bear one another’s 
burdens,’ is the injunction, you know.” 

" And you have done that most faithfully, auntie. I 
do wrong to burden you with my trouble ; but it is so 
hard to bear it alone. To have Mr. Giles so pleasant 
and accommodating before folks, and then treat me like 


THE WIPE’S BURDEN. 


19 


a hired servant or a slave when alone, is so cruel ! I 
never do anything to suit him. The fo^d^ is not just 
right ; his linen is too stiff one week, and too limber the 
next ; if a thing is faultless, he says nothing about it. 
If the pies are a little too sweet or sour, he talks about 
it continually till the last one is eaten, and often alludes 
to it afterwards to tease me. Baby has always been 
troublesome. And now, when I work hard all day, and am 
kept awake half the night with the poor little thing, he 
thinks it strange I should be tired. When I feel sad, he 
calls me cross. He never tries in any way to help me. 
This morning I felt sick and discouraged ; little Unie was 
restless all night, and worrisome in the morning, so that, 
although I tried hard, I did not get breakfast on the 
table till five minutes after the usual time. He talked of 
it all meal-time ; I told him how it was ; he laughed, and 
said he knew women who had brought up ten children, 
and weren't dead yet. I told him my head ached ; he 
laughed again, and said it always ached since I was 
married. 0, auntie, that isn't half! I can't tell it. 
But the hardest thing of all is to have him so smooth 
and nice in company ; that disgusts me. I am afraid I 
hate him for it. If he can be so pleasant and obliging 
in company, .he can when alone with me. If he was 
always alike, I should think, with Mr. Phrenol, that it was 
his ‘ bumps,' and he couldn't help it. Now, tell me," 
sobbed the unhappy wife, “if you think I can enjoy 
much with my husband ? Can I ever respect him, and 
be happy again ? " 

“ I can't tell," said Hester ; “ I don't know him ; if I 
did I could advise you. But all things are possible 
with God. If he is naturally affectionate, you may 


80 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


conquer him by kind, patient words and deeds ; by 
mildly but firmly insisting upon having your rights re- 
spected ; by letting him see that you mean to do right, 
the best you can, and all you can, and are determined 
that you will not be found fault with continually. Child, 
your situation is a trying one ; you need that wisdom 
which cometh from above to direct you ; seek to be 
reconciled to him first of all. You are suffering from 
two causes — overwork and disappointed affection. Now, 
if I understand the case, you do not need a little girl, 
but a large one, to do the heavy work and assist in 
tending the baby. Then you would be strong to con- 
tend with difficulties, and make a strenuous effort to 
remedy those things which annoy you so much. It vexes 
some men to see their wives always looking pale and 
sad ; and yet they have not sense enough to know that 
they can’t help it, when body and mind are overtaxed. 
They don’t realize how hard it is to be broken of one’s 
rest, or how much labor it is to do the work for a family. 
Now, if you could get a girl to relieve you some, and 
then apply yourself vigorously to correcting your own 
and your husband’s faults, you might work wonders. 
Human nature is a strangely perverted thing, and terri- 
bly inconsistent ; but patience and perseverance, it is 
said, will remove mountains. Will you try my remedy, 
Levie ? or work out for yourself a better one ? ” 

0, auntie, I wish I could. Did you ever know any 
one so unhappy as I am to become happy again ? ” 

“ 0, yes, child ; a bad beginning sometimes ends well. 
You must labor, and wait, and pray.” 

** But, auntie, my face is such a tell-tale. When he 
says unkind things to me, I feel as if I should die, and 


THE WIFE’S BURDEN. 


81 


I show it. When he pats me on the cheek and pets 
me in company, I feel indignant, insulted, and disgusted ; 
I can’t help showing it, you see, and people think I am 
hateful, without affection or gratitude. I know it, I see 
it in their looks. And sometimes women who I know 
have kind, tender, thoughtful husbands, say to me, 
‘ Why, your husband idolizes you, Mrs. Giles ; I wish my 
husband thought as much of me,’ &c. That cuts like a 
knife. My own sisters speak in that way. And then 
he loves to tease me before people, and will speak of my 
mistakes in housekeeping jn such a pleasant, jocose way, 
that people think strange I cannot receive it in the same 
spirit. 0, they don’t know how often I have heard it at 
home, and how differently, until the mention of it chafes 
and galls my feelings. But I would be anything, and 
bear or do anything, if he only loved me. Then I might 
in some way work my way out of this darkness, and be 
happy yet.” 

God can help you out of this trouble, my child ; 
trust in him ; do not despair. I have seen what prom- 
ised to be very unhappy marriages turn out well. I have 
also seen what appeared to be very happy marriages 
become wretched ones by mismanagement and want of 
patience. Take courage, my child ; be firm, gentle, and 
brave, and all .will be well sometime.” 

Mason Giles had been a devoted lover ; but when the 
prize was won, he threw off all disguise, and treated his 
wife according to the instincts of his sordid nature. 
Indeed, she became a kind of safety-valve, through which 
his selfishness escaped, and made him appear altogether 
better to neighbors and citizens. Ilis farm was adjacent 
to the village, and Winnie would attend the village 


82 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


school, and could see her little sisters often. That was a 
strong inducement to Hester ; but she saw great obstacles 
in the way of her going, and raised objections. But 
grandpa, uncles, and aunts were against her, and she 
consented on condition that at the end of the year she 
should return to her if she chose. 


A TBAGIG SCENE IN VILLAGE LIFE. 


88 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A Tragic Scene in Village Life. 

Wallace saw and heard much to perplex him in vil- 
lage life. 

“ Why, auntie, he said one day, “ there are a good 
many boys here that don^t mind their mothers ; and they 
say great, big, swear words, and fight. It isn’t as nice 
here as I thought it was. The good boys do it, auntie.” 

“ They do ! ” said Hester ; '' who are they ? ” 

Why, the minister’s little boy swore ; Jack Stillman 
told him what to say, and then all the boys laughed. 
Jack told him to say it to the old man when he got home. 
0, auntie, won’t his father feel sorry ? ” 

Yes, dear, the boys were very wicked ; but little 
Willie did not know what the words meant. His parents 
will tell him they are naughty, and he will never use them 
again. What makes you think the boys disobey their 
mothers, Wallace ? ” 

Wallace hung his head, and blushed. 

‘‘ Yous must tell auntie,” said Elida, or yous will be 
disobejent youself.” 

'‘Yes, tell auntie,” said Winnie; "we ought to tell 
her everything, as we did mamma.” 

Hester waited, and after a few moments Wallace began. 
Well, auntie, you know you forbid my going to the 


84 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


mill, and I haven^t ; but the boys tease me to all the 
time. I tell them you don’t allow it ; and they laugh, 
and call me ‘ babj’’ ’ and you an ‘old fuss.’ I threw a 
stone at them, though, and I wish I had hit Jack, he is 
so mean.” 

“ 0, I am sorry you did that, Wallace,” said Hester. 
“ I knew a boy once that threw a stone when he was 
angry, and hit a good little girl, and put her eye out.” 

“ 0, dear I ” said Winnie, covering her eyes. “ Don’t 
do it ever again, Wallace, will you ? ” 

“ Perhaps not ; I guess not, if there is any good little 
girls round.” 

“ Fro um easy, Wallace,” said Elida, “ so God won’t 
know it.” 

“ 0,” said Hester, “ God is everywhere, and he knows 
everything. My dear boy, I hope you will remember 
this. Can’t you find some good little boy to play with ? ” 

“ I know one,” said the child, “ but his clothes are 
ragged.” 

Hester told him that God did not look at the clothing 
of the body, but the state of the heart. 

“ A good child covered with rags is more pleasing in 
his sight than a wicked child clothed in velvet. God 
does not love disobedient children, for he has commanded 
them to obey.” 

“ Has he, auntie ? ” said Elida. “ Why, I never heard 
him speak ’bout it.” 

Hester smiled, took down the Bible, and said, — 

“It is in this ; I will read it to you.” 

“Well,” said Wallace, “those boys don’t keep the 
commandment.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Hester ; “ God will not bless them 


A TRAGIC SCENE IN VILLAGE LIFE. 


85 


if they do so ; and they are on forbidden ground, and 
are in danger of becoming very wicked men, and may 
be left to commit some fearful crime, and pay the pen- 
alty with their lives 

“ 0, auntie, I am afraid somebody has committed one 
now,^^ said Winnie, springing from the window. “ See, 
they are carrying somebodj^ into Mr. Gray^s.^^ 

‘‘ 0, that is where the ragged boy lives, said Wallace ; 
his mother drinks rum ; the boys tease him about it.^^ 

‘‘ I hope you have nol,^^ said Hester, sorrowfully. 

“ Do she get intosticated ? ” said little Elida. “ I 
didn’t know mammas ever did so. 0, how funny I ” 

Hester saw that people were coming and going — that a 
crowd was collecting around Mr. Gray’s. She thought 
it must be something more than intoxication. Leaving 
the baby with the children, she went to see if her assist- 
ance was needed. 

0, what a spectacle met her ! Mrs. Gray, when alone 
with her baby, had emptied the contents of a tin pail, 
which the village demon had filled for her that morning, 
taking the very food from the little children’s mouths in 
payment, immediately after the distressed husband had 
besought him not to furnish her with it. 

“ I want to get an honest living,” was his reply. “ It 
is my business to sell ; if people make a bad use of it, 
why, it is their lookout, not mine. I have the law on 
my side, I believe.” 

‘‘Yes,” said the perplexed husband, “you have a 
wicked, perverse law on your side, made by wicked and 
perverse men, bound to live on the poor man’s toil ; but 
God’s laws are against you, and he will vindicate my 
cause. 


86 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


You show no mercy to me, or my worse than mother 
less children ; and if God is true, you will receive none. 
But I beg of you, Mr. Stillman, not to let her have any 
to-day ; for I must leave home to work, or let them all 
starve. The children are not safe with her, especially 
the baby, for an hour, when she has it.^^ 

‘‘Every one to his calling,’^ was the unfeeling reply; 
and so she went again with her tin pail, and all the pork 
the house contained in it ; and that hireling of Satan 
took it, and gave her the fatal draught which took away 
her reason, and made her an inanimate, loathsome thing. 

She had fallen near the open fire, and the little innocent 
baby’s face was buried in the hot embers, where its voice 
was soon hushed in death. Yes, it lay there, a naked, 
blighted little corpse. 

Hester found it lying there. “ Thank God,” she said 
fervently, “that the angel of death was sent so swiftly 
to unlock the door of life for this little sufferer.” 

The inebriate mother, all unconscious of her own con- 
dition, or her baby’s fate, lay there tossing her blistered, 
unsightly limbs hither and thither in mortal anguish. 
Her clothing had apparently taken fire from the infant’s, 
but she felt not the scorching heat until it was nearly 
burned off. 

Then her benumbed faculties were aroused sufficiently 
for her to arise and stagger towards the store, which was 
very near. She fell in a few moments, convulsed with 
agony. Kidder Stillman was the first to discover her 
terrible situation, and when a crowd gathered, he went 
also among them. Hester saw that she was not needed, 
and the scene was too appalling to gaze on from idle curi- 
osity. Nothing could be done for Helen Gray. Her 


A TKAGIC SCENE IN VILLAGE LIFE. 8*7 

strong physical powers might enable her to struggle 
terrifically for an hour or two, but death was sure of its 
victim. 

“Kidder Stillman,’^ said Hester, mournfully, “you see 
what rum has done. Isn^t it awful ? Have you seen the 
innocent baby ? Go look at it ; what if it was yours ? 
Look at that woman ; she is a wife ; what if it were your 
wife ? It might have been. Helen was once fair, and 
bright, and strong. She has been ruined by a weapon you 
placed in her hand. Don^t tell me it is your calling : I 
know it is. Satan called you to it, just the same as he 
calls the gambler to gamble, the thief to steal, the mur- 
derer to kill. Your calling is just as honest as theirs ; 
not more so ; you can^t prosper in it always. 0, let this 
most awful sight my eyes ever beheld be a warning to 
you, and cease from your work of death. 

Hester returned home with an indescribable feeling of 
sadness. The children met her, eager to learn what had 
happened. She disliked to chill and sadden them with 
the recital of such a scene ; she softened the circum- 
stances as much as possible, and even then, they were 
very much shocked. 

“ Where did she put the baby when she fell down ? 
said Winnie. 

“0, it has gone to sleep, said Hester. 

“ What will it do when it wakes up ? said Winnie ; 
“ won^t it cry after its mother ? 

“ I guess not,^’ said Hester ; “ God will take care of it.^^ 

“ Isn’t he dood, auntie ? He takes care of all the 
children that hasn’t got no mothers. 0, he is nice, I 
love him,” said Elida. 

“ Well,” said Wallace, “ Jack Stillman’s father sold 


88 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


the rum, I s^pqse — didn’t he ? Jack drinks it. I mean 
to call him Jack ^^7Zman now.” 

‘‘ And you t’row a ’tone at him,” said little Elida, 
when there ain’t no dood girls round — won’t you, 
Wallace ? He is a naughty boy.” 

My dear children,” said Hester, “if you indulge in 
such things you will be on dangerous ground ; and then 
you will go from one wrong act to another, from one sin 
to another, and perhaps you will become wicked enough 
to sell rum, or drink it. And then you won’t know 
what you are about, and may do some awful deed, or 
come to a terrible end, as poor Mrs. Gray has. And be 
sure, Wallace, to avoid John Stillman as much as possi- 
ble. He is a vile, bad boy.” 

“ Yes, auntie, I will ; and shouldn’t you think he 
would be ashamed to tease us little boys so when he is 
such a great big boy ? ” said AVallace. “ Shall I speak 
to that poor ragged boy, and take hold of his hand when 
the boys tease him, and lick urn if they don’t mind ? 
That won’t be wicked — will it, auntie ? ” 

“ I think it is wrong to fight,” said Hester. “If he 
were insulted and abused, and you were strong enough 
to defend him, that would be right ; but you are only a 
little boy, and must content yourself with kind words.” 

“ Mayn’t I give him my new picture-book, auntie — 
it will please him.” 

“Yes,” said Hester, “ I think that will be a good 
plan.” 

“ And here’s my baby-dollie,” said Elida. “ May I 
gis her to the ’ittle girl ? You see her mother is all 
burned up amost, and can’t make lier any now, for Mr. 
Killman made her intosticated — all dead eny most. You 
can make me another some day.” 


A TRAGIC SCENE IN VILLAGE LIFE. 


89 


I don’t know,” said Hester, that I shall have time ; 
perhaps you had better keep that one.” 

Elida thought for a moment, looked at her baby, and 
finally concluded to* give up her treasure. 

“ Well, I guess I’ll gis it to her ; I’s got a ’ittle 
waked up sister to play wis me.” 

And the heroine folded her chubby hands, and gave a 
sigh of regret, or relief perhaps, that the deed was done. 

‘‘0, hum ! ” said the little thing. ‘‘ I hope they 
won’t gis my dollie any sugar wis rum to it over there, 
or she will be a ’nebraite. I shan’t be there to shake 
my head and look sorry, as mamma used to. One time 
papa said, ‘ Sissy, take it, and papa will gis you a stick 
of candy.’ ” 

“ What did you do then, darling ? ” 

My mamma looked a ’ittle, and I runned and put 
my head in her lap, and said, ‘ Peep-boo, papa, peep- 
aboo 1 ” 

“ What did papa say then ? ” 

'‘0, he laughed a ’ittle, and drinked it all up.” 

'' But what is the matter, pet ? ” said Hester, as she 
observed Winnie weeping very quietly. ‘‘ What is the 
matter, dear ? ” 

Why, auntie, I wish, 0, I wish God would let me 
go to mamma, I feel so bad.” 

Why, darling child, what makes you feel so ? Don’t 
you love me and little brother and sisters ? ” 

‘‘Yes, auntie, I love you all ; but everybody dies so I 
My sweet mamma, my good, kind grandpa Lentell, and 
my grandma Lovering, have all died,” sobbed the child ; 
“ and now somebody is wicked, and Mrs. Gray is burned. 
0, auntie, most everybody acts so that I want to die 
before 1 go to live with aunt Elevia.” 


90 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Hester saw that the child had been looking too much 
at the dark side of life for her sensitive nature, and strove 
to turn her thoughts into a different channel. 

Baby’s wonderful perfections never failed to delight 
the children. She was “ so cunning,” “ so sweet,” 

such a darling.” There never was her equal, so they 
all thought ; they loved her so Hester had only to hold 
her up, or let her jump and crow, and immediately sad- 
ness disappeared as if by magic. 

Do you know,” said Hester, ‘‘that Christmas is 
coming by and by ? Old St. Nicholas will be round 
with his bag full of presents. We must all have our 
stockings ready. I don’t think he will pass us by — do 
you, Winnie ? ” 

The child drew nearer to Hester, and taking baby’s 
hand, smiled a sad, timid smile. 

“ He can’t get much in her little bit of a sock — can 
he, auntie ? Yours will hold the most — won’t it ? ” • 

“ Yes ; and suppose we hang up a lot of mine ? Per- 
haps the old gentleman won’t notice the difference. 
How will that do ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Winnie, earnestly. “ I should 
like a big stocking full ; but then I shouldn’t know 
which was mine, or yours, or Wallace’s ; and he would 
know that Elida and baby hadn’t such big feet. Be- 
sides, I’m afraid he wouldn’t have presents enough to 
go all round. No, auntie, the right way is the best.” 

“ I shall hang up both of mine,” said Wallace. “ If 
he wants more room he can have it.” 

“ I, too,” echoed Elida. “ If he wises to gis me a 
’ittle pony, he can tie it to the table — can’t he, auntie ? 
and he can leave my candy on the top. 0, dear me, 
hum I Won’t it be funny ? ” 


A TRAGIC SCENE IN VILLAGE LIFE. 


91 


** I wouldnH say ‘ hum ! ^ darling/’ said Hester ; 
** but I will tell you what we will do. We will spend 
the day at uncle Frank’s, if it is pleasant, and leave our 
stockings hanging up.” 

That will be funny,” said little Sunshine, as Hester 
called her. 

And so, with pleasant thoughts in their young minds, 
she listened to their evening prayer, and kissed them a 
sweet good night. 

Winnie lingered. 

** What is wanting ? ” said Hester, pleasantly. 

** I want to know if my papa drinks rum now, auntie. 
He told ma, in the letter, he never would.” 

“ I can’t exactly tell,” said Hester. “ I haven’t seen 
him, you know. I want my pet to look bright to- 
morrow, for I am going to let her visit Susie Trueman. 
So go to bed now.” 

0, auntie, she won’t want to play with me if my papa 
drinks rum. Let me stay with you all the time.” 

Hester was affected to tears by the sadness of the 
child. She was too young to taste the wormwood 
and the gall of life. She laid little Fostina in the 
cradle, took Winnie in her arms, and folded her to her 
bosom. 

What is it that troubles my pet so ? Tell auntie all 
about it ; auntie loves her.” 

0, I miss my mamma so I I love you, too ; but I 
want mamma. If I had a papa to love me, it would do,” 
she sobbed ; '' but I am afraid he is on the forbidden 
ground, and will do something bad. 0, auntie, if God 
would let me go to heaven, it would be so kind, or make 
me a Christian, like you.” 


92 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Hester smoothed the bright brown hair tenderly, won* 
dering what she should do to comfort her. 

Little one,^^ she said, did I ever tell you how my 
father and mother died when I was a little infant, leaving 
me without brother or sister, uncle or aunt ? 

** No,’^ said Winnie ; “ tell me about it.^^ 

So Hester began the oft-repeated tale, making it grow 
brighter and brighter as she proceeded. 

Hasn^t God been good to me ? she said, in conclu- 
sion. 

** YeB,’^ said Winnie ; “ but you are good, too.^^ . 

^'Not very,’^ said Hester; ‘‘but God will be good to 
you, my child. He wants you down here for something. 
You must ask him to make you willing to stay. Sub- 
mission to God is what you need. You must pray to 
him, darling ; ask him to help you be good and happy, 
and he will. That is the way I did. We must be will- 
ing to do just what God wants us to, and then he will 
be pleased with us and bless us. He says, ‘ Those that 
seek me early shall find me.^ Now go to sleep, dear, 
and auntie will rock you, just as I do my little bit of a 
pet.^' 


MK. TRUEMAN’S FAMILY. 


93 


CHAPTER IX. 

Mr. Trueman^s Family. — Pleasant Memories. 

Alonzo/^ said Mrs. Trueman, “ you remember Har- 
mony Lovering ? ” 

“Yes; she married that famous Mr. Lentell, I be- 
lieve. 

“ Did you know she was dead, and that her four chil- 
dren are living at Mr. Manlie’s with Hester Strong ? 

“ No, indeed ; is that so ? Where is her husband ? 

“ Worse than dead. They tell me he has become a 
real sot, and that Harmony died of neglect. I hear a 
great deal said about old Mrs. Lentell ; I don’t know 
how much truth there is in it ; but if half is true, she is 
a monster of selfishness, and as different from your 
mother as sin from holiness. I mean to see Hester soon, 
and know the truth of these stories, and see if I cannot 
help her in some way. Only think of it I At her time 
of life, with four children, and one a baby I ” 

“ Well, I wish you would go over, Linnie,” said Mr. 
Trueman, thoughtfully. “We owe Hester a great debt 
of gratitude. Do you know I think she saved your life 
when you were so sick, after Georgie and Freddie died ? ” 

“No, I did not know you thought me in danger ; but 
it did seem to me that I could not have lived without 
her. I never shall forget the restful feeling which came 
over me after she came ; and I cannot tell any one how 


94 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


tired and restless I was before. It did seem as if I could 
never rest again on earth, and I felt willing to die even, 
and leave you and all, if I could only rest. I never can 
describe the feeling of relief I experienced when Hester 
put her arms around me and kissed me, saying, ^ Poor 
child, I know it all. There, now you can cry all you 
wish to ; it will relieve you. Jesus wept at the grave 
of a friend.’ 0, it was so different from what others 
said I Even you, dear, thought it would hurt me to 
weep, and never spoke of the children in my presence ; 
so my grief lay like a mountain of lead on my heart ; it 
was crushing, crushing the life out of me. Hester 
seemed, in some way, to put her strong, loving soul 
next to mine, and lift the mighty burden, so that I could 
rest and sleep. She did not talk much at first, but al- 
lowed me to, until my feelings were relieved. Then 
I seemed to doze for a long time. I couldn’t feel 
the burden ; I only realized that I was weary, 0, so 
weary I and that Hester was tending me — watching 
me — loving me. What is it, Alonzo, that makes Hes- 
ter so acceptable to the sick and afflicted ? ” 

“ I do not know, unless it is religion. She is a per- 
son of strong, decided character, but perfectly under the 
influence of the law of love to God and love to man. 
She comes the nearest to my standard of Christian char- 
acter of any one I know.” 

“Yes, I think so ; but all Christians cannot minister 
to the sick and suffering as she does. It seems to me 
she is especially set apart for that peculiar work. She 
must have received a baptism of suffering herself.” 

“ Possibly it may be so,” was the reply. “ I think 
I used to hear father and mother speak of a disappoint- 


PLEASANT MEMORIES. 


95 


ment she met with when young ; and then it is evident 
her heart has always been in her work. She has made 
it the study of her life to be useful, and has fairly earned 
the reputation she enjoys. I wonder what the sick will 
do now ? 

Some one will be raised up to fill her place, I pre- 
sume. I hope those children will find homes soon, for 
her sake.^’ 

She is sixty, I believe ; but it doesn^t seem possible. 
Her heart never will grow old. I can’t understand it ; 
she has worked hard. It must be one of the mysteries 
of godliness, I think. But I wish you would go and see 
her, and find out in what way we can help her bear her 
burdens.” 

“ I will go this afternoon, and to-night we will talk it 
over, if alone ; and I hope we may be, for it seems a 
long time since we have had an evening all to ourselves.” 

After tea, Mr. Trueman inquired, — 

“ How did you find Hester and the babies, Linnie ? ” 

I found them well and happy. Why, Hester has 
adopted the two youngest ; the others are going to their 
new homes in the spring. I think it is a real trial to 
Hester to let them go.” 

How about Harmony and her husband, and the old 
lady that rumor brands as a monster ? ” 

0, it is all true, and the half had not been told me. 
Do you know I love and venerate the memory of your 
dear parents more than ever since hearing Hester’s story ? 
What a happy lot mine has been ! I don’t suppose I 
knew any more about work than Harmony did ; but 
your mother didn’t seem to expect me to know every- 
thing about housekeeping. She used to praise and 


96 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


encourage me all the time. When I made a mistake, 
and felt badly, she used to tell of one she made when 
she commenced housekeeping in such a funny way that 
I couldn’t help laughing, and that made it easy, you 
see.” 

‘‘ Well, did you find out anything we could do to help 
Hester ? ” 

Yes ; I brought home a lot of sewing for the chil- 
dren. And when I urged Hester to let me do more, she 
intimated that Christmas presents would be acceptable. 
We are to leave them at Mr. Manlie’s. They are pretty 
children — all of them. I wish I could have the baby. 
She is not a beauty, in one sense, and yet she is strange- 
ly fascinating. Her eyes are like her mother’s, only 
more beautiful, with a peculiar expression — half sad, 
half mirthful. She seemed to read my face very atten- 
tively, and then reached out her arms to me with so 
much quiet confidence that she fairly won my heart. I 
could not help weeping when Hester told me how sad 
little Winnie is at times. She is more thoughtful than 
most children, and very sensitive. I told Susie to invite 
her to spend the day with her, but Hester could not pre- 
vail on her to come. She said Susie wouldn’t want to 
play with her, because her father drank rum. Isn’t it a 
shame, Alonzo, this whole liquor business ? Can’t some- 
thing be done to stop this nefarious traffic ? Only think 
of Mrs. Gray ! How awful ! 0, how I pity her husband 

and children ! There is no end to the misery it brings 
upon mankind. I should like to sink every still-house 
and dram-shop down into the bottomless pit. There 1 
now I’ll stop, or I fear I shall want to pitch the rum- 
sellers after them, and do wicked things to fathers who 
fill the hearts of their children with sorrow and shame.” 


PLEASANT MEMORIES. 


97 


“ Then you didn’t mean Kidder Stillman/’ said Mr. 
Trueman. ‘‘I have something of that feeling towards 
him since that terrible tragedy. It seems worse for a 
woman to die in that way.” 

“Yes, it does seem worse. I am thankful it is not very 
common, for I really think that, bad as it is for husbands 
and fathers to become brute beasts, the children suffer 
less than when the mother pursues the same wretched 
course. I do wish something could be done to stop the 
sale of the poison stuff*. It makes me wicked to think 
of it. I didn’t think of Kidder when I spoke ; but I own 
that, as I went past there to-day, I fairly loathed the 
sight of him. I confess, I compared him to a certain cloven- 
footed character we read of, and the store to his den.” 

“ Why, Linnie,” said Mr. Trueman, “ is it possible ? 
I thought I was alone in that feeling. But it does ex- 
asperate me exceedingly to see such miserly selfishness. 
There is no help for it, though, while man remains a 
depraved being, unless the strong arm of the law can 
be brought to bear on one side, and Christian courage 
and fortitude on the other. But you must try to make 
Winnie feel that we respect her in spite of her misfor- 
tunes. It is one of the saddest features of intemperance 
that innocent women and children suffer more than the 
guilty subjects.” 

“Yes, I shall try to. I have invited her to spend the 
day after Christmas with us, and I shall invite a number 
of little girls in the afternoon, so that she may become 
acquainted. She is going to live with her aunt Elevia in 
the spring, and will attend our school.” 

“ That is right ; do what you can for her,” said Mr. 
Trueman. “ I am glad she is going there ; Mr. Giles is 
7 


98 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


very much of a gentleman, and wealthy. She will be 
well cared for.^^ 

I fear not,^^ was the reply. “ Hester does not feel 
so. She intimated that he is not what he seems to be ; 
but pray don^t speak of it ; it may not be so. And yet 
Hester is seldom wrong, you know. But don’t forget 
the presents.” 


IIE. AND MBS. STILLMAN. 


99 


CHAPTER X. 

Mr. and Mrs. Stillman. — A Domestic Scene. 

Maria/^ said Mr. Stillman, “ I want you to go to 
the city to-morrow, and get a new velvet bonnet, and a 
cloak of some kind. Mind, now, you get something 
that will put Mrs. Trueman and Mrs. Steele all in the 
shade. I am doing more business than their husbands are, 
— that is, in some branches, — and I want people to know 
it. Don’t mind expense. I want you to look better than 
any one at church. John and Clara look first rate in 
their winter suits. That Trueman is a mean puppy, croak- 
ing round about temperance. This is a free country, I 
want him to understand. But sometimes I wish it 
wasn’t ; for I would like to stop some of this noise about 
the sin of rum-selling. That mean, contemptible Steele is 
trying to undersell me ; but we’ll see,” — snapping his 
fingers. I know a trick worth two of that. Water is 
cheap.” 

Yes, we shall see,” sighed Mrs. Stillman. Kidder, 
I begin to see now, and feel too, that rum-selling is a 
sin — an abominable sin. I wish from the bottom of my 
heart you had never engaged in it. I wish you would 
give it up. It is a curse to us, and always will be.” 

"‘Well, now,” said Mr. Stillman, starting up and 
walking round the room resolutely. “ Maria, what’s to 
pay ? I thought you had got rid of those whims and 


L ofC 


100 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


notions. Has the parson been talking to you ? Say, 
what^s the matter ? 

'' No,^^ said Maria, emphatically, “ he hasn’t ; but I 
begin to see for myself. I don’t know how I can help 
it. John is being ruined by the influence of rum, and 
tlie company it draws to the store. You must be blind, 
or you would see that he is.” 

I can’t, then ; but I hope I haven’t got to hear tem- 
perance at home, as well as abroad. I won’t have it, 
Maria. Why, that canting hypocrite Trueman called at 
the store to-day, and tried to induce me to give up sell- 
ing liquor. The dog I he knows I get other custom by 
keeping it.” 

“ Yes, and lose some. Kidder, we are disgraced for- 
ever by that affair of Mrs. Gray’s. How came you to 
let her have it ? Why, I am so mortified I don’t want 
to meet anybody. How could you take that little piece 
of pork ? It was a shame. It is all over town. The 
children sing out, ‘ Pork, pork ’ to John. They call 
him Jack Killman now ; and Clara says the girls whisper 
and draw back when she comes near them : it is 
awful.” 

“ They are envious, I suppose,” was the curt reply, 
“ because my family dress better than they. Trading is 
my business, Maria. I am not to inquire into the pecu- 
liar circumstances of my customers. I should like to see 
myself doing it. How did I know Lot earned that pork 
doing chores for Mr. Manlie ? How did I know they 
hadn’t a barrel full ? ” 

‘'Why, Kidder Stillman, you did know they hadn’t a 
barrel of pork, nor anything like it. You might have 
known it was all they had. And they say Mr. Gray 


ME. AND MRS. STILLMAN. 


101 


called on you that morning, and begged of you not to 
let her have any. Was that so ? Tell me, Kidder ; did 
he?'' 

“ Well, what if he did ? I tell you it is ray business 
to sell, and ask no questions. I paid for a license ; and 
how did I know she would get in the fire ? She was a 
nuisance, any way." 

How came she to be a nuisance, Kidder Stillman ? 
That is the question. You can't deny that Helen Gray 
was a nice, respectable woman when you came to the 
village. Hasn't she bought all she drank of you ? You 
can't deny that, either. I don't think there is another 
store in the place where she could have bought it. I, for 
one, am heartily ashamed of you." 

There now, that is what I get for working to dress 
you and the children in fine clothes. But I tell you to 
stop your lecturing, Maria ; I can't hear it." 

But you will have to hear it. I have lain awake 
half the night ever since I saw that little burned infant 
and its mother. 0, mercy, what a sight I They are 
right before me all the time. 0, Kidder, I felt like a 
guilty accomplice in the horrid deed ; you don't know 
what I have suffered ever since. Why, I had rather be 
clothed in rags the rest of my life than to wear the price 
of so much sin, and misery, and death. I never saw the 
business in its true light before — never. I only looked 
at the beautiful things it purchased for me and mine — 
blindly, foolishly. I have now looked at the wretched- 
ness and rags, the poverty and shame, it brings to the 
consumer ; and now my nice house, my beautiful dresses, 
everything we have, is stained all over with guilt. 
Wherever I look, I see something like the terrible hand 


102 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


on the wall, writing, ' This is the price of tears, of mis- 
ery, of hunger, ay, of blood/ I can’t bear it, Kidder ; 
you must stop, or I shall be insane.” 

Mr. Stillman began to be alarmed at his wife’s state 
of mind. 

“ Well, well, Maria, don’t talk about it now ; you are 
nervous. You ought not to have gone over to Mrs. 
Gray’s. It almost undid me. I had to be resolute, and 
drive the subject out of mind. I thought -I’d give up 
the business right off ; but what’s the use, Maria ? There 
is Steele and others ; they’d sell it if I didn’t. I might 
as well have the profits as any one ; but I shall look out 
not to sell it to a foolish woman with a baby to burn up 
again. Trust me for that. Steele may have that kind 
of customers for all I care. Come, you’d better go to 
the city, and buy those things ; it will take up your 
mind.” 

“ But I don’t want my mind taken up ; I am satisfied 
it is wrong to sell rum. My eyes are opened : I don’t 
want to have them closed again by gewgaws. I have 
thought altogether too much of dress and show. My 
love of them has almost blinded me to the evils of in- 
temperance ; and yet I never thought it was right to sell 
it. I have had my secret fears for John ; and now I see 
plainly that, unless something is done immediately, he is 
a ruined boy. He is rude and coarse at home, and is 
continually repeating some low vulgarism he has heard 
at the store. And Clara is ashamed of him when they 
are out together. Poor child ! he is becoming a town’s 
talk ; good children shun him.” 

'' 0, come, Maria, you are nervous. John will do well 
enough — sowing wild oats you see. He is smart ; that’s 


A DOMESTIC SCENE. 


103 


all ; none of your milk-and-water folks. He will come out 
right ; don^t worry. Come now, don^t act so. Here, I 
will give you some money, and you go in to-morrow and 
buy what you need. I don’t want you to go looking 
shabbily ; it will injure my trade.” 

“ I don’t wish for any money ; I can’t think of going, 
and I don’t need anything but a clear conscience to make 
me happy. You are a kind husband ; we have been 
happy together, and may be again if you will give up 
selling liquor ; we can live comfortably without the profits, 
and I shall be a thousand times happier.” 

Why, Maria, you talk foolishly. We couldn’t half 
live if I were to give that up.” 

We don’t more than half live now, and never have ; 
I mean as we ought to,” said the dejected wife, still 
weeping. But I had rather die than live by cursing 
and killing others. Come, Kidder, do please, now, give it 
up. We shall never be prosperous and happy till you 
do. I fear I have been as much to blame in the past as 
you have ; but I can’t sustain you in it after this, and I 
shall never consent to spend a cent of money obtained 
in this way again. Won’t you promise me ? ” She laid 
her hand upon his shoulder, and looked tearfully into 
his face. 

“ I can’t promise, Maria ; I will think of it. I couldn’t 
bear to see my family poor, or meanly dressed. I am 
sorry you feel so ; but my stopping would make no dif- 
ference ; somebody’ll sell it ; they’ll get it somewhere. 
I’ll see about it.” 

Never mind, Kidder ; let others sell it if they will, 
and reap the reward ; but promise me that you won’t,” 
persisted the awakened wife. 


104 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Perhaps I will, when I sell out what I have on hand. 
I must go now ; you are making too serious a matter of 
this.^’ 

And the unhappy wife was left alone with her sad re- 
flections. Clara was out spending the afternoon. John 
was — she knew not where. She had little expectation 
that her husband would ever think as she did. And 0, 
she trembled, as she thought how often she had detected 
the fatal smell in his breath recently, and an unnatural 
hilarity in his manner. She wept and sighed in turn, 
until John, a boy of sixteen, entered the room noisily, 
saying, — 

Come, old woman, hand over some money. The old 
man is mighty crusty to-night ; can’t get a cent from 
him. I tell you, fork over. Jim Steele and I are going 
over to North End, to a ringtum with two of the hand- 
somest girls out.” 

Mrs. Stillman was exceedingly shocked. She saw that 
her son was in the first stage of drunkenness, and perfectly 
reckless. 

“ I have no money, Johnnie ; come, stay at home with 
me this eveming ; I am lonesome,” she said, in as quiet 
a voice as she could command. 

** Well, I guess so ; pretty likely I shall — isn’t it ? 
when Jim and the girls are waiting down by the corner. 
Come, trump up something ; your watch’ll do.” 

He seized it, held it up for a moment defiantly, and 
rushed from the room, saying, — 

‘ ‘ Tell the old man to hand over the real shin-plasters 
next time.” 

Mrs. Stillman hurried to the store as fast as her trem- 
bling limbs could carry her, and entered it just in time 
to hear Mr. Crafty say, in a sarcastic tone, — 


A DOMESTIC SCENE, 


105 


“ I thought you were more of a man, Mr. Stillman, than 
to be nosed round by a woman. Now, I tell my wife 
that it is nothing to her how I make my money, or spend 
it either, so long as she is well supplied. 

‘‘What is it?^^ said Mr. Stillman, alarmed by the 
appearance of his wife. She told him in as few words 
as possible, and disappeared. 

Mr. Stillman spoke hurriedly to his clerk, and excused 
himself to the company by saying, — 

“ I have an engagement down at the corner, and 
ought to have been there before, and went in pursuit 
of his son, — so young in years, so old in vice. Of 
course the counsels of Mr. Crafty and his compeers, 
backed up by love of gain, and the cravings of a young 
and growing appetite, prevailed ; and the casks were 
emptied and filled, emptied and filled. Mrs. Stillman 
became very reserved ; but people called her haughty, 
and wondered what she had to be proud of. She ceased 
to dress as much as formerly ; they supposed it was be- 
cause Jack cost them so much in drunken riots. They 
didn^t pity her ; didn’t she know it was no worse for 
her husband and son to drink than for other people’s 
husbands and sons ? 


106 


HESTEE STKONG’S LIFE WOEK. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Christmas Morning. — Reminiscences of the Past. 

** It has happened just right — hasn^t it, aunt Hester? 
Now I am glad it snowed so fast, if I couldn^t go skating. 
Uncle Prank will come in his big sleigh. 0, won’t it be 
fun to see the horse go and make the bells jingle!” said 
Wallace, on Christmas morning. 

“ 0, funny, funny!” shouted little Elida. 

It will be nice,” said Winnie, ‘‘ if we don’t tip over 
in the big piles of snow.” 

We shan’t tip over,” said Hester, tossing the baby. 
** Uncle Frank is used to snow, and old Charlie is kind 
and careful.” 

Isn’t she pretty, with her new frock ? How nice 
Mrs. Trueman has fixed it, with the blue ribbon and edg- 
ing,” said Winnie, as Hester held little Fostina up to the 
admiring gaze of the children, and turned her round and 
round, so that they could have a full view of the bow on 
the back, and see how cunning she was all over. 

“Pretty!” said Hester; “yes, indeed, and as sweet as 
a pink. She is a darling, every bit of her, and just as 
good as can be.” 

“ Don’t you wish father could see her ? ” said Winnie, 
sadly. 

“ Yes, and grandma Lentell, too,” said Wallace, tri- 
umphantly. “ Poh I a monkey! I should think she 


CHRISTMAS MORNING. 


101 


looked more like a little beauty — shouldn't you, auntie ? 
I don't love grandma much ; she says ‘ Hum ! ' all the 
time. She's real homely, and I think she looks like a — " 
“ Your grandmother is not as good and lovely as I 
wish she was, but you had better not speak disrespect- 
fully of her. It will do no good, and will be sure to 
injure you," said Hester, quietly. 

‘‘ How will it, auntie ? " 

Well, I don't know as I can make you understand 
what I mean ; but here is a pail of nice, clean, fresh 
water. Now, if I were to pour in a few drops of vinegar 
every now and then, it would soon grow sour ; or a little 
wormwood, it would be bitter — would it not ? " 

- “ Why, yes, of course it would," said Wallace. 

But suppose I should drop in a lump of sugar now 
and then ? " 

Why, it would be sweetened water then," said the 
children, in concert. 

‘‘ It would be dood," said Elida. We'd drink it all 
up, and gis you and totty sister some." 

Well," said Hester, smiling, ‘‘ when God makes us 
little innocent babies, at first we are good, and fresh, and 
pure, and sweet, like little birdie, here ; and when we are 
old enough to think, and talk, and act, if we are careful 
to think good, and pure, and loving thoughts, we shall 
remain more pure and lovely than we shall if we indulge 
in bitter, unkind, envious feelings. Or, in other words, 
kind, loving, tender thoughts, words, and deeds make us 
better, and those around us ; but cross, unkind, selfish 
thoughts, words, and deeds injure us, and those with 
whom we associate. Do you understand me, children ? " 
‘‘ Why, you mean, if I tell about grandma's badness. 


108 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and say she looks like a monkey/^ said Wallace, rapidly, 
“ it will make me, and us, bitter, or sour, or bad. And 
if I talk about somebody’s goodness, it will make me, and 
us, better.” 

‘‘ That is it,” said Hester, encouragingly. ^ “ But we 
must hang up our stockings. Uncle Frank will be here 
soon. There he comes, now.” 

“0, dear I ” said Martha Manlie, to her parents ; “I 
should think Hester would be distracted, with all those 
children to fix off. I declare I thought I should be 
crazy the little time I staid there ; but Hester seemed to 
enjoy it. They are as good as kittens, all of them ; but 
there would be too many for me, and Hester is ten years 
older.” 

La, sakes, child,” said grandma, " you ain’t used to 
children, and Hester is. You’d get used to it after a 
while. I never enjoyed myself better in my life than I 
did when I had my seven around me ; and my mother 
used to say the same of her ten. There they go. Hester 
is a dear good girl. She seems as young as ever she did. 
God bless ’em.” 

I wish ’em all a merry Christmas, from the bottom 
of my heart,” said grandpa, looking up from his paper. 

God bless ’em.” 

'' Wallace looks like your brother Horace, child — don’t 
you think so ? ” said grandma. 

'' Yes, mother, and Winnie like our Mary, only hot as 
cheerful. She is rightly named Winnie. I wish she 
was going to stay here, instead of Elida ; her quiet, 
thoughtful ways suit me exactly. Elida is a dear little 
thing too, and baby is a remarkable child. I don’t know 
what to think of her. She is the wisest little thing I 


REMINISCENCES OF THE PAST. 


109 


ever saw. She is getting acquainted with me, and I am 
glad. I mean to tend her half a day Sunday, and let 
Hester go to church, she enjoys it so much.’^ 

That is right, Martha ; your poor brother set his life 
by Hester ; and wasn’t she worthy of it too ? 0, how 

that wicked Mehitable Sharp made them suffer ! I can’t 
bear to think of it. I always blamed Horace, though, 
for going off without knowing the truth of the matter. 
But la, it is all over ; I didn’t never mean to think of it 
again. But I am glad them children didn’t take after her. 
I couldn’t love them if they did. Their grandpa Lentell 
was as nice a man as ever lived. He waited upon me to 
a horseback ride once. He was a handsome fellow : folks 
teased me about him considerable. But I liked your 
father the best,” looking over to the corner where he sat, 
fondly. “ I was fortunate, Martha. I hope you will do 
as well some day.” 

Martha smiled as she said, “ Why, mother, don’t you 
see I am away beyond the matrimonial corner ? ” 

You ain’t, child ; you are young enough, and good 
enough, to be married any day, and might have been 
long ago, if your father and I could have spared you.” 
God will bless you, Martha,” said grandpa, smiling. 

0, how those few childish words of the mother wakened 
thoughts in the heart of the devoted daughter, of the long- 
ago love, which burned brightly on the heart’s altar for a 
few brief months, making the bright and beautiful things 
of earth more bright and beautiful, causing all nature to 
smile with gladness, and life seem like a pure, sweet 
reality, which it would be blessed to live. 

Yes, she thought of that time for a moment, and 
smiled — a little patient smile. And then came thoughts 


110 


HESTER STRONG’S LTTE WORK. 


of another time, so full of blighted hopes and withered 
expectations, so full of chilly dreariness and desolation, 
that she instinctively bowed her head over the Blessed 
Book, which lay on her knee, and pressed her hand to 
her throbbing temples, as if she could thus stop the tide 
of mournful memories, and drink in peace from the sacred 
pages before her. 

But her souBs eyes were fast riveted on memory^s 
blotted page. Thus she sat, while before her passed, 
in panoramic view, the manly form of her affianced 
husband. 

Now he was sitting by her side, holding her hand, 
telling her honestly, frankly, tenderly, all his love. How 
pure it seemed 1 How she loved him in return I She felt 
ennobled and elevated by his love, by her love. It was a 
blessed moment, but it passed. Another scene. How 
could she look at it ? She shrank nearer to the Holy Word 
of promise, the hands clasped painfully over the throbbing 
temples, the head bowed lower and lower, as if to let the 
dreadful wave pass over. 

0, it came, it came, and was past. She was well nigh 
stunned by the mighty shock. The beautiful things of 
life were veiled in sadness, earth draped in mourning, 
and the light of heaven very dim, in the presence of this 
sudden darkness, which extinguished forever a pure, 
true, and beautiful love. 

No, not forever I It will live and burn on, brighter, 
purer, and holier, in the kingdom of heaven. 

“ Martha, said the aged mother, ^^why don^t you 
read, child ? I knit into the middle of my needle long 
ago, and have been waitin\ Read ‘ The Lord is my 
Shepherd ; I shall not want.' " 


BBMtNISCENCES OF THE PAST. 


in 


Yes, mother, I will read in a moment. I want to 
run up stairs first/^ 

She came back, and read calmly, very calmly, page 
after page of the Holy Word, to the aged listeners, and 
her soul grew strong. She took up again, hopefully, 
the broken threads of life, and went on her way cheer- 
fully. 


112 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WOEK. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The Christmas Party. — Miss Patty Stearns. 

** 0, HERE you are/' said Emma Lovering. Why 
aunt Hester, you look as motherly I Give me baby, 
while you take off your things." 

She is asleep, the darling," said Hester. '' Let me 
lay her away in a quiet place, and she won't wake till 
dinner time." 

** Why, how good she is I Weren't you cold ? How 
did you like your ride, children ? " said aunt Emma. 

It was nice," said Elida. 

** Splendid," said the others. 

“ We's didn't be spilled a mite in the snow," said 
Sunshine, smiling all over her face. 

Has you got a puddin' wis plums in it, auntie ? " 
Yes, pinky, I have ; and mince pies too, and little 
cakes for boys and girls that are good, and lots of sweet 
things." 

“ I's dood, auntie, and I likes them things : may I has 
some ? " 

"‘I guess so," lifting her up and kissing the dim- 
pled cheek. Now I want you to have a good time, 
and be very happy. Georgy and Fanny have been talk- 
ing of this visit for a month or more. Now let us see 
which of all the children will behave best. Let us try 
to please each other." 


THE CHRISTMAS PARTY. 


113 


Hester took the children into the large, old-fashioned 
}»Liiior, where the great logs crackled and sparkled, and 
sent out a perfect flood of warmth and comfort to the 
e hilly ones around. 

Grandpa Lovering was there, trying to look cheerful ; 
but thinking, thinking all the time of Mary, the love of 
his youth, the light of his home, the mother of his chil- 
dren, the companion and friend he had lost. 

‘‘ I will not sadden them still more by my sadness, 
he thought. 

The brothers and sisters were struggling bravely to 
bear their own burdens, and help the others in their pain- 
ful task. The last time they had met was at mother’s 
funeral ; and Harmony, their gentle sister, too, had gone ; 
her place was vacant. They missed them so I 0, they 
felt more lonely than ever, now that they were all together. 

They saw the pain in each other’s faces, they heard it 
in each other’s voices, and felt it in the earnest, silent 
clasping of the hands. After the first greetings were 
over, the children took possession of the porch, which 
had been made warm, and trimmed with evergreens for 
the occasion. 

'' There was a baker’s dozen,” uncle Frank said. 

But things moved slowly at first, for the children, some 
of them, had been deeply wounded by the two deaths in 
the family circle. All felt the influence of the sad hearts 
around them, until uncle Frank led aunt Hester among 
them, blindfolded. First came a smile, then a shout. 

“ Now, children,” said Hester, as she went cautiously 
along, reaching out her arms, '‘I’ll catch you, if you’ll 
let me. But mind now, we must be — 0, who is this ? ” 
feeling all over the head, rubbing the cars and pinching 
8 


114 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


them, but no sound. Well, I guess it is Master George 
Lovering. (A great laugh.) Am I right ? 

“ Yes, yes ; Yis he,’^ shouted the children. 

And here is my Sunshine,^’ said Hester, catching 
Elida, who had been saying, — 

'' Here I be, here I be, auntie. 

Well,’^ said Hester, taking off the bandage and tying 
it over Georgy’s eyes, '' I was going to say you must try 
to play as quietly as you can, for baby is asleep, and 
grandma Stearns isn’t far off.” 

I wish she was farther off, though,” said George ; 
‘‘ she’ll think we ought to be set down in a row, learning 
the Catechism.” And several others said, — 

So do I, so do I. She isn’t a bit like you, auntie 
Hester. 0, won’t you stay and play with us ? ” 

Do,” echoed from all parts of the room. 

No, dears, I can’t ; I want to see grandpa. He is 
lonely. See how good you can be, and take care of the 
little ones,” she said, disappearing. 

Why, I would give more for one of our aunt Hester’s 
little fingers than I would for Patty Stearns, and all the 
money and things the cross old thing has got in tho 
world,” said Fanny. 

“ If I hear her old crutches a coming. I’ll hold the 
door. She thinks it is wicked to laugh,” said George, 
as he began to dive this way, duck that way, stoop over, 
and walk with his arms stretched out this way and that. 
Such a diving, ducking, dodging, scampering time as 
there was for a few moments ! the little ones pleading to 
be caught. 

There, now,” said George, with a flourish, “ I’ve got 
somebody. ’Tis Fanny, I know by her wig.” And so 


MISS PATTY STEARNS. 


115 


it went on, game after game, until joy sparkled in every 
eye, when suddenly the door flew open, and there stood 
Miss Stearns, leaning on her crutches, and looking mourn- 
fully, ay, sternly, over her brass-bowed specs. 

“ I shouldn’t thought you’d felt like making all this 
noise,” she said, dolefully, when your poor grandmother 
and aunt Harmony are both dead. Death is a solemn 
thing, and you’ve got to die, all of you, some time. 
You’d better be lamin’ the Catechism, or some of Watts’ 
hymns.” 

The children were as silent as if death in all its grim- 
ness stood before them, all but Fanny, the eldest. 

“ Why ? ” said she ; ‘‘ have we waked the baby ? Aunt 
Hester told us to play ; she played with us at flrst.” 

Mercy, mercy 1 Did I iver hear the like of that ? 
Well, go on ; destruction’s before you.” 

“ Didn’t you love to play when you were young ? ” 
inquired Fanny. 

^‘Not after my grandmother and aunt died — not I,” 
was the slow, solemn reply, with a mournful shake of 
the head. 

How old were you then ? ” persisted Fanny. 

Well, it’s no matter now ; I was thirty or up’ards. 
I’ve seen the emptiness of earthly things, and I hope 
you will before long.” She turned slowly away, with 
a sigh, saying, ‘‘ Mercy, mercy I how depraved human 
natur’ is 1 ” The door was closed as soon as it was 
safe. 

There, now,” said George, sticking his jackknife over 
the latch, ‘‘ I hope somebody else will die soon.” 

0, I wouldn’t,” said Winnie, fearfully. 

Yes, you would,” said George, “ if you were as tired 


116 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


of her droning, croaking voice as we are. Why, Sis and 
Bub get just as far from her as they can.^^ 

Yes,^’ said Fanny, she thinks it is foolish and 
wicked for mother, or any of us, to say ‘ darling,^ or 
' birdie,^ or ^ Lizzie,^ or ‘ Willie.^ She always says ' Wil- 
liam,^ and ‘Elizabeth,^ to those little things.^’ 

Fanny’s perfect imitation of Miss Stearns’ voice and 
manner caused a hearty laugh. 

Hush I hush ! ” said several voices ; ‘‘ she will come 
again.” 

“ No she won’t,” said Fanny ; the door is fast.” 

“ What makes your folks keep her? ” inquired several 
of the cousins. 

Because she can’t stay anywhere else, I suppose,” 
was the reply. “ Mother pities her. Why, we can’t 
have company, young or old, without her hobbling ii 
with her crutches, looking like a fright ; and she has real 
nice clothes laid away. And then, nobody must speak, 
unless spoken to by herself, because she happens to be 
eighty. This is the way she begins,” said Fanny, settling 
her face, and changing her tone ; — 

‘‘ ‘ George, bring the cricket. My limb it pains me 
desput. It’s thirteen years and up’ards since I fell and 
broke it. Fanny, it ’pears to me there’s a stitch down. 
I ain’t a bit well,’ addressing the company. ‘ My eyes 
pain me, afid I rested poorly last night, too. The doctor 
left me some trade for um, but they ain’t a mite better.’ 
A little pause. ‘ I was sayin’ it’s up’ards of thirteen 
years since I fell and broke my limb, and I hain’t stepped 
a step since.’ 

“ By and by the company gets to talking, and grows 
lively. She frowns, moves her crutches, and plunges 


MISS PATTY STEARNS. 


in 


into us again. ^ Let’s see/ very dolefully addressing 
some one who has buried a friend some time, ; ‘ I believe 
it’s ten years the 10th day of March since your sister 
died. I remember it as plain as day,’ shaking her head 
mournfully.” 

“ That is a way she has of extinguishing mirthfulness, 
father says,” said George. ‘‘He says she can tell the 
year, the month, the day, and the hour of every death in 
town for the last forty years.” 

“ She likes funerals,” said Fanny, “ and it’s the* only 
thing she does like, except good living. Last Thanks- 
giving morning she complained of being sick, and mother 
made her a quart of milk porridge. She crumbed it full 
of bread, and then, when dinner was ready, she wanted 
a lot of turkey, saying, ‘ I niver tasted a mouthful 
of breakfast.’ ‘ Didn’t you eat a bowlful of bread and 
porridge ? ’ said mother. She looked up with an in- 
jured, indignant look, and said, ‘ I niver heard porridge 
called victuals — niver.’ I can tell you, the turkey and 
fixins, pudding and pies, melted away like snow forts 
before the sun, if her appetite was poor.” 

“ She isn’t willing we should laugh or play,” said 
Fanny, “ or read anything but the Bible, Pilgrim’s 
Progress, Watts’ Hymns, or the Catechism.” 

“You have forgotten the ‘ ivery-day book ’ and the 
letters she makes everybody read,” said George. “ She 
looks indignant enough if we read a word to ourselves.” 

“ We shall turn sour, or bitter, or bad,” said Wallace, 
uneasily, ‘‘if we keep on. Hasn’t somebody got some 
sugar to put in ? ” 

The children laughed, looked at each other, and in- 
quired, — 


118 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ What do you mean ? 

Winnie told aunt Hester^s morning* illustration. 

There isn^t much danger of our being sweetened — 
is there, Fan/’ said George, “while that vinegar jug is 
round ? She ought to have been a frog, she loves croak- 
ing so well.” 

“Come, come,” said Fanny, “let’s play ‘puss, puss 
in the corner,’ or ‘forfeits.’ Aunt Hester is right. The 
more I talk about her, the worse I hate her ; so I shall 
stop.” 

After the children left the parlor, grandpa said, mak- 
ing a great effort to speak cheerfully, — 

“We miss them — don’t we, children ? we miss them. 
But we shouldn’t be willing to call them back — should 
we ? ” 

A long pause. Elevia arose, sat down on a cricket at 
her father’s feet, and laid her head wearily on his knee. 
Silently he placed his arm over her neck for a moment, 
drew his hand over the bowed head, caressingly, and 
said, “ My child, would you call them back ? ” 

“No, father,” was the earnest reply. “ I would 
rather go to them.” 

Hester, as usual, came to the rescue. She talked of 
the absent ones so hopefully that the mourners could 
almost rejoice that they were not here, bearing the bur- 
dens and sorrows of life. 

“ God help us to be ready when we are called to go,” 
she said. 

Here Miss Stearns entered. 

Every one knew what to expect. It was the old 
story. Self was the beginning, the middle, and the end ; 
so the company resigned themselves to the infliction as 
best they could. 


MISS PATTY STEARNS. 


119 


Miss Strong/^ she began, I shouldn't thought 
you’d felt like playing with um. I’m astonished that 
you sanction the follies of youth so. I’m surprised and 
shocked, I say, to find them children a-playing so soon ; 
and you begun it. Christ’s kingdom niver will be estab- 
lished while his professed followers are — ” 

Cross and ugly,” said uncle Frank, laughing. 

Mercy, mercy I You are too light,” — with a sigh. 

He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. 
We ought to follow his example in those things.” 

“Yes,” said Hester, reverently, “we ought to follow 
his example in all things. He was kind, and tender, and 
loving. He was meek and lowly, full of pity, gentle and 
forgiving. He was perfect in holiness. 0, we ought to 
imitate him in all things, especially in his self-denying 
love ; for love is the bond of perfection.” 

“ It was in July, I believe, Mr. Lovering, that your 
daughter died ; the 28th day of the month ; and your 
wife, November t. Well, there is enough to keep us 
from frivolity. I’ve seen the emptiness of earthly 
things.” 

Here dinner was announced. After some waiting, the 
crutches were adjusted on a chair brought for that pur- 
pose. Grace was said, and the business of the hour 
went on as briskly and quietly as could be expected, con- 
sidering that twenty-eight hungry people were seated 
around the table. The children were radiant with delight 
and expectation. 

“ I likes puddin’ wis plums in it,” said little Elida. 

The company smiled, all but Miss Stearns ; she was 
shocked. 

“ Children should be seen, and not heard, was the rule 


120 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


in my day/^ she sighed ; but now they are heard first. 
That child needs a mother/’ — looking at Hester. 

0, come, Miss Stearns,” said uncle Frank ; ‘^this is 
a Christmas dinner, or supper, whichever you please, 
and not a funeral, nor a lecture. Let us be thankful for 
our blessings, and show it by being cheerful. There is 
a time for everything, you know. Let me give you a 
generous piece of turkey, or chicken, or whatever you 
like.” 

'' I likes baked roosters, I does,” said little Willie, 
with a flourish. 

“ Wis a wis bone on it ? ” said Elida. 

“ Yes,” said Willie, “ and some ’tato and graby on it.” 

All smiled but the chagrined and solemn Miss Stearns. 
It was funny to see the little piles of plums on the chil- 
dren’s plates — pleasant to see them count their treas- 
ures, and divide, so as to share equally. 

“ Well, we’ve had a nice time — haven’t we ?” said 
Fanny. “ I was afraid Miss Stearns would spoil all ; 
but she hasn’t.” 

All expressed satisfaction, and the com23any dispersed. 

“ I think you do wrong to keep Patty Stearns here,” 
said Hester, aside. ‘‘ It will have a bad influence on 
the children ; prejudice their minds against religion, &c.” 

“ I fear it will,” said Emma. “ Frank threatens to 
send her off. She is terribly stingy, too, and frets about 
the price of board. Why, she wouldn’t eat a meal away 
on any account. If invited, she declines, saying, ‘ I pay 
my board at Mr. Lovering’s.’ Yet she will invite com- 
pany to eat here. Did you see that bag on her arm ? 
She always brings it to the table, and if there is cake, or 
anything better than common, she drops some in slyly. 


MISS PATTY STEARNS. 


121 


Queer — isn’t it ? And the other day her brother, an old 
man, came to see her. She wanted to comb his hair, 
and actually came to me for a comb. ‘ Why/ said I, 
‘ where is yours ? ’ ‘I don’t want to use mine,’ was her 
reply. ‘ Well, I don’t want you to use mine, neither,’ 
said I. She seemed quite offended. I think we shall 
have to let her go ; but I am sure I don’t know where 
she will find a place. Nobody wants her.” 

When Hester went to Miss Stearns’ room to say good 
night, she could scarcely help smiling at the sight that 
met her. She found her sitting in one corner, a comical- 
looking hood on, her head bowed so that the bow on the 
pointed top stood erect, “ meditatin’,” as she called it, 
and saying over her Catechism, hymns, &c., out aloud. 

Hester heard 

“ Hark ! from the tombs a doleful sound,” 

and closed the door sadly, saying to herself, “ There are 
other doleful things besides tombs. I wish she could 
learn to praise, as well as mourn. She has more cause 
for gratitude than many others I know of.” 


122 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

What Santa Claus left. — Judith Lovering^s Advice. 

Martha Manlie had kindled a good warm fire, and was 
waiting to help Hester unpack her precious freight. 

This is thoughtful in you,^^ said Hester ; “ I meant to 
have asked you to do just this thing. You take Sun- 
shine. Wallace and Winnie can scrabble out themselves. 
Pet is fast asleep. She is a darling, auntie Martha. 
There, it is nice to have this warm room to come into. 
The folks all sent love to you and the dear old folks. 
How have you enjoyed the day ? 

0, very well. 1 have thought of you a good deal. 
I expected you and the little ones would come home tired 
out. ArenH you half crazy with the confusion ? said 
Martha, as she went on quietly unwrapping the children, 
who were trying to wait patiently for an opportunity to 
explore the stockings. 

“ I’s had the bestest time,^’ said Sunshine. 0, Fs 
never seen such nice plums on a puddin’ in all your life, 
aunt Martha. I brought one to you, and my grandpa, 
and his mother. Be she waked up ? ” 

May we look and see if he has been here ? ” asked 
Winnie and Wallace, in a breath. 

“ 0, yes,^^ said Hester, “ I forgot you were expecting 
the old man with the bag. Have you seen him, Martha ? ’’ 
Yes, I think he has called,’’ said Martha, opening 


WHAT SANTA CLAUS LEFT. 


123 


the bed-room door, and exposing five stockings pinned to 
the bed-quilt. 

“ Mercy sakes I said Winnie ; ‘‘ why, they are all full, 
and running over. Fm afraid he won’t have enough to 
go round.” 

“ Yes, he will,” said Wallace ; '' he makes such things, 
and has a store full of um.” 

^‘0, good, good! Here is a sled for me; and here is a 
little pony ; that is for me ; and here — ” 

You mustn’t claim everything,” said Hester. “We 
will see whom the things are for soon. We shall find 
the names attached to them. Let’s see : the sled is for 
Wallace, the book for Winnie, the pony for Elida. And 
now you may see what the stockings contain.” 

The merry voices were hushed for a moment, while 
childish hands pulled out one thing after another, until 
the last was extracted, and then, — 

“ See I see I ” shouted the children. 

“ I’ve got a jackknife, and lots of peppermints,” said 
Wallace. “ Hurrah I I’ll cut up your kindlings now, 
auntie.” 

“ Mine is a baby, a mite of a dolly, that he brought 
me,” said Sunshine, “ and some sugar things. I’ll gis 
you some, aunties.” 

“ That is a darling,” said the two aunties. “ But what 
has Winnie got ? Isn’t she pleased with the old gentle- 
man’s gifts ? ” 

“ 0, yes, indeed ; but I am confounded, auntie. I 
didn’t expect half so much. Here is a beauty thimble 
and scissors, and comb, and such a lot of candy, besides 
the darling book. 0, I didn’t expect so muchJ^ And 
little sensitive Winnie fairly cried with the surprise and joy. 


124 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“You will have one of those books every month, 
darling,^’ said Hester. 

“ Who do you suppose it is ? said Martha, stroking 
the child’s head. 

“ Why, it is God, I think. He told somebody to do 
it, because we are orphans. Aunt Judith told me I was 
worse than an orphan. Are orphans had, auntie ? ” 
sobbed the child. 

“ Bad? No,” said Hester, cheerfully. “They are the 
sweetest, darlingest little things in the world. I think 
they are nearer and dearer to the dear God Father than 
children who have earthly parents. Don’t you, Martha? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Martha ; “ and all God’s people 
love little motherless children better than any others, if 
they are good.” 

“ Do you suppose that God thought anything about 
telling him to give us these ? ” asked Wallace, thought- 
fully. “ Why, he is away up in heaven.” 

“ Yes, dear,” said Hester. “ God reigneth in heaven 
and on earth, too. He is everywhere, beholding the evil 
and the good. He will punish our evil, wicked deeds, 
and reward the good. I want you to remember the 
verse, ‘Thou, God, seest me,’ for he is always looking 
on. When you desire to do wrong, think of God, and be 
afraid to sin ; when you desire to do right, be sure God 
put the thought in your heart ; and He will help you, and 
bless and love you if you obey.” 

“ But who tells us to do wicked things, auntie ? ” 

“ Satan, who is a very wicked, cruel spirit ; he hates 
God, and — ” 

“ Poh, auntie I I shan’t mind him. He is a hateful old 
fellow. I heard a dressed-up man say on the street, 


WHAT SANTA CLAUS LEFT. 


125 


the other day, that Jack Stillman and his father acted 
like the devil. He is Satan — isn’t he ? Poh I he is 
mean.” 

But, my dear child, Satan is a very powerful spirit. 
There is only one Being stronger than he.” 

Who is that, auntie ? God ? ” 

‘‘Yes, dear. God can help you resist this malicious 
being, and when you pray, ‘ Lead us not into temptation, 
deliver us from evil,’ that is what you mean. You must 
not forget to ask God to take care of you, my dear 
children, every day ; neither must you forget to thank 
him for all his blessings.” 

“ These are blessings, I suppose,” said Wallace, point- 
ing at his sled. 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ Well, I thank him for all mine, and I mean to be 
good, and love him.” 

“ Who, do you suppose, did it, auntie ? ” said Winnie, 
smiling. “ I guess they wanted to put some sugar in 
our lives — didn’t they ? I wish I knew who, so that I 
could love them.” 

Hester and Martha looked at each other, and smiled. 

“Why, St. Nicholas, of course,” said Wallace ; “he is 
always doing such things at Christmas time. He is a 
funny old man, and slept between two feather beds, one 
night, when he didn’t want to go out. Don’t you remem- 
ber, mamma used to tell us ? ” 

“ Yes, he be funny,” said Sunshine, who had finished 
the last peppermint, and commenced a stick of molasses 
candy. “Yes, he is a kind old San Dicolas — isn’t he, 
auntie ? He gis my ’ittle beauty sister a cunning rattle. 
Mayn’t I gis it to her, when she wakes up ? ” 


126 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Yes, dear; but auntie cannot let you eat any more 
candy to-night. It will make darling sick, and auntie 
will have to give her bitter medicine. 

likes bitter things, auntie,’^ said the child, demurely; 
“ let me eat it all up.’’ 

‘‘ No, dear,” said Hester, decidedly ; “ give it to me, 
now ; in the morning you shall have it.” 

No, no,” persisted the child. Santa Dicolas told 
somebody I might eat it all up. He wants to sweeten 
me all sweet, he do. Now I’ll tell him,” she said, pout- 
ing out the red lips, and crying. 

‘‘ He won’t bring naughty folks any, next time.” 

" 0, sissy, sissy,” said Winnie, hurriedly, he won’t 
bring you any more if you talk so. Aunt Judith says 
we must be good all the time, and never say things, 
because we are orphans. She says we must be still, and 
never get in the way, nor anything, or folks won’t have 
us round. 0, dear I won’t you stop crying ? ” 

Hester and Martha gave each other a sharp, quick, in- 
dignant look. 

“ When did she tell you all that ? ” said Hester. 

“ Out in the porch, auntie, when I was playing ; it 
made me cry. She told me not to laugh so loud, for I 
was worse than an orphan, and it didn’t look well. But 
Fanny told me orphans were good as anybody. She 
said I might laugh as loud as I pleased, for I wasn’t half 
as much in the way as aunt Judith.” 

Well,” said Hester to Martha, ‘‘ I shall have to talk 
to that woman. I didn’t mean to, but I must. Mary 
always stood between us when she was alive.” 

Martha nodded assent, and said, “ Father and mother 
wanted to have the children come in a little while.” 


JUDITH LOVERING’S ADVICE. 


121 


Elida was as sunny as ever by this time. 

0, funny I she shouted ; now Fll gis the plums.” 

There,” said Hester, when the children had left 
the room, am glad they are gone, for I am burst- 
ing almost with indignation, and I feel like crying, 
too. What a strange woman that Judith Lovering is 1 
Only think of it. Trying to dampen and darken the little 
bit of enjoyment the poor child was having. There are 
dark shadows enough around her now, without her 
throwing any. Why, Mr. Lovering will find it hard to 
get a housekeeper, on her account. I don^t think he 
knows her yet. Mary, our angel Mary, took all her 
poison shafts into her own tender bosom. 0, she hid 
them away there, and they killed her ; I don’t hesitate to 
say it. She didn’t let her husband know what she had 
to endure. She tried to hide her meanness from him, 
from every one. Yes, she bore it silently and alone, and 
it killed her. I have seen things there that would make 
a saint ‘ angry, and sin not ; ’ and sometimes I wanted to 
tell her what I thought of her ; but Mary would beg so, 
that I desisted. But Winnie is a sensitive child, and I 
shall talk with Judith, for — ” 

^^Ah,” said Martha, she was rightly named Judith 
Small. I wish she had never changed it, for Mary did 
fail so fast after she went there, that I feel as you do.” 


128 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK, 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WiNNiE^s Visit, and the Party. 

Hester exhausted her ingenuity in preparing Winnie 
for her visit at Mr. Trueman^s. She dressed her in her 
very best, and took her into grandpa^s, that they might 
help her fortify the shrinking child for the events of the 
day. 

Now, praise her all you can truthfully, said Hester 
aside ; it wonH hurt a child like her/^ 

You look like a posy,^^ said grandpa, just picked 
out of the garden, with the dew all on.^^ 

'‘She is as comely as her mother,^^ said grandma; 
“ and that is saying a good deal. How curious you are, 
Hester ! She looks well enough to go to the parson^s, 
or anywhere else, as to that matter. She makes me 
think of the old adage, — ' Pretty is that pretty does.^ 
She looks like a modest little violet with that blue dress 
on.’’ And grandma stroked the child’s smooth hair 
with her wrinkled hand, and smiled, until Winnie thought 
she, too, was beautiful, and wondered why grandma Lin- 
tell was so different. 

Martha said her dress was neat and becoming ; and 
noped she would enjoy the day. They all sent kind 
regards to Mr. and Mrs. Trueman. 

“ Shall I say, ‘ Grandpa and grandma sent their love 
to you, and my aunt Hester and aunt Martha, too?’ Is 
that right ? ” said Winnie, hesitatingly. 


WINNIE’S VISIT, AND THE PARTY. 


129 


** Yes, that will do nicely, said Hester. 

“ Very nicely,^’ said the rest. 

She kissed baby and Elida, said good morning cheer- 
fully, and went forth to find that every cup of happiness 
contained a little drop of something ‘‘ bitter, or sour, or 
bad,^' as Wallace said, dropped into it sometimes wick- 
edly, sometimes thoughtlessly, sometimes accidentally. 
She spent the morning pleasantly, playing with Susie 
and her dollies, dressing and undressing them, rocking 
them to sleep, &c., until Susie said, — 

“ Did you have some at your house, Winnie ? 

“ Once,^^ was the reply ; “ but they wasn^t like these. 
My mamma made them,’^ — with a little sigh. 

‘‘ 0, I forgot; mother told me not to ask you,'^ she 
said, apologetically. Of course they were pretty if 
your dear mother made them. She isn’t dead, — is she, 
Winnie ? She is up in heaven with God and my darling 
brothers, that went before I was born. But I shall know 
them. Grandpa and grandma went since I was a big 
girl. They will know them, and find them for me. 0, 
you are crying I what makes you ? You will see her 
again. Mother says she was good. Don’t cry ; I am 
sorry I speaked about it, if it makes you feel bad. I 
didn’t mean to ; mother said I mustn’t unless you did. 
Come, don’t cry, and I will give you old Hagar ; you 
liked her best. Mother will be willing. She wants 
you to love us, because — ” Susie stammered ; she was 
afraid to say ‘'because you are a poor motherless child, 
with a drunken father ; ” so she put her arms around her 
neck, almost crying herself, and said, — 

“ I am real sorry I said it.” 

'' 0, it wasn’t you that made me cry,” said Winnie, 

9 


130 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


returning the caress. ** I like you, and your papa and 
mamma. I remember the Christmas presents ; they were 
so beautiful I But when I think of my dead mamma, I 
always cry. I donH mean to, but I do. 0, I wanted her 
to stay with me, but she couldn’t ; and most all the time 
I want to go to her ; but aunt Hester says God wants 
me down here for something. There, I won’t cry any 
more ; it makes you feel bad ; but I want something. I 
want to love Jesus.” And Winnie wiped and wiped 
the little red eyes. But they wouldn’t stay dry. 

“ No, I ain’t crying about that,” said Susie; ^^but I 
was thinking what if God should take my mamma, and 
leave me. I should cry all the time then, I believe.” 

No, you wouldn’t all the time,” said Winnie ; God 
would help you forget it. Haven’t you got some books 
with pictures in them ? ” 

Yes, a whole lot ; come into the library, and I’ll 
show you.” 

Before dinner the little girls were very happy, and the 
best of friends. 

Mr. and Mrs. Trueman succeeded in diverting Win- 
nie’s mind from painful thoughts during the dinner hour. 
The children vied with each other in showing her kind 
attentions. 

** Be you got a brother ? ” said Walter. 

“ Yes, and two sisters ; one little baby sister, and 
another about as big as you. I think you would love 
them,” said Winnie, glancing up at Mr. and Mrs. True- 
man. 

** 0, yes, I know we shall. When it is warm weather, 
we are going to bring Miss Hester and her pets over 
here to spend several weeks. Do you like cherries 


WINNIE’S VISIT, AND THE PARTY. 


131 


was the reply; “but I shan^t be there 
then,^^ — drawing a long breath. “Pm going to aunt 
Elevia’s.^^ 

“ 0, well, that isn’t far off,” said Mr. Trueman, cheer- 
fully. “ Your uncle trades at my store, and I will ask 
him to bring you over when they are here.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Trueman, “ you will go to school 
with Susie ; and, as I think you are a good, truthful 
girl, I shall ask your aunt to let you come often and 
spend the night with us. Would you like to ? ” 

“ 0, yes’m ; ” and Winnie gave a quick glance at Susie, 
who met her look with a bright, broad smile. She smiled 
cordially in return. The shadows faded from her heart, 
the sadness from her face. Mr. and Mrs. Trueman 
looked at each other significantly, well pleased with the 
result of their efforts to cheer this, Christ’s little one ; 
when little Walter, wishing to occupy a silent moment, 
said to Winnie, — 

“ Do your father be in the naughty jail-house now ? ” 

The parents tried to check the unfortunate question, 
but too late. Winnie blushed, gave a quick glance 
around the table, looked down, and burst into tears. 

With the thoughtfulness of mature age, Susie arose 
and said, — 

“ Come and see my birdies. I’ll give you something 
to feed them with.” 

As the children left the room, Mr. Trueman said, — 

“ Walter, don’t speak to the little girl about her 
father or mother again — will you ? It makes her feel 
badly. Linnie, we shall have to be more guarded in 
speaking before the children. I would rather have given 
a great deal than to have had this happen.” 


132 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


‘‘ Ps sorry Walter made the little lady cry, papa. 
Walter sorry ; never do it another time, papa.^^ 

“It is a pity that she is so sensitive, said Mr. True- 
man. “ Situated as she is, life will be full of pain. I 
wonder what can be done to help her overcome it.^^ 

“Kind treatment and time will do something for her,’^ 
was the reply. *^Only think what she has seen and suffered 
in the last few months. What would become of our 
Susie, or Lucy even ? ’’ 

“ It is a hard case, Linnie. I am so outraged with our 
law-makers, that I can’t sit down quietly any longer. 
Such a child needs a father, and so do all children ; and 
yet the law, which claims to guard the rights of the peo- 
ple so very humanely, sanctions a traffic which, I should 
think, a demon would be ashamed to engage in. 

“ I tell you, Linnie, the more I come in contact with 
mankind, the more I see of life, the more I am convinced 
of the depravity of the race ; you may call it total, if 
you like. And that there is a wicked, malignant spirit, 
full of all manner of evil, and cruel as death, is just as 
plain to m}" mind as that there is a God. 

“ There is our hope. There is a God, perfect in all 
his attributes ; infinite in power, as well as holiness. 
Some time he will overthrow this whole scheme of wicked- 
ness, and cause that truth and justice shall prevail.” 

He paused a moment, and then said, “ I called on 
Stillman, and talked as kindly as I 'could, and made about 
as much impression on him as I should in talking to a worm. 
But ril have it yet ; see if I don’t.” 

“ What do you refer to, dear ? ” said his wife. 

“ Why, the liquor law. It has got to come, let them 
rage as much as they please.” 


WINNIE’S VISIT, AND THE PARTY. 


133 


** Then you think it will be passed ? 

Yes, I do. It may not this year, but it must eventu- 
ally. The right must prevail. Lucy, you had better stay 
in the parlor, and help the children along. Keep them 
at play, and see that no one slights Lottie Gray or Win- 
nie Lentell ; that is a good girl.’^ 

‘‘ I think I shall go in, too,^^ said Mrs. Trueman ; and 
we can keep them busy — can't we, Lucy ? " 

“ Yes, mother, I shall like it, if you go ; I'm afraid 
they wouldn't mind me." 

“ Lucy," said Mrs. Trueman, several of the little 
girls are coming ; wait on them into the nursery. Let 
us be careful not to slight any, nor make ‘ lions ' of them, 
but treat them as nearly alike as possible. But if any 
among them seem bashful, or sad, or timid, we must take 
extra pains to make them feel at ease. They are our 
guests, you know." 

Yes, mother, I'll remember. I have noticed how you 
manage." 

There was a little reserve at first ; Lottie Gray was 
painfully embarrassed, though very well dressed, thanks 
to Mrs. Stillman. She saw Clara whisper to Regena 
Steele, and felt sure she was telling her, ‘‘ That is my 
dress," &c. She shrank away in one corner, and wished 
she was at home. But Lucy's quick eye detected the 
trouble in a moment, and she took vigorous measures to 
remedy the evil. 

Come, girls," said she, let us play ‘ Button.' Who 
will go round first ? Well, I will begin at Clara. Susie, 
you and Winnie come over here and sit by Lottie ; she is 
a little stranger to most of us. I am glad you could come 
to-day, Lottie ; mother wants you to get acquainted." 


134 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Choose me for your judge/^ whispered Lucy to Win- 
nie and Lottie. They did so, and she was sure to make 
their penalties as light as could be, so that they need not 
feel embarrassed. 

“ 0, you are having a nice time,'^ said Mrs. Trueman. 
** When you are tired of that, you can play ‘ Hunt the 
squirrel.’ You all know how to play it, I presume.” 

0, that will be nice,” said Susie. “ Come, Winnie 
and Lottie.” 

“ Suppose you stay and hide the squirrel, Regena,” 
said Lucy. 

And so the plays ‘‘ Hunt the squirrel,” “ Dress the 
lady,” “Magic music,” &c., went on briskly till nearly 
tea time. Then Mrs. Trueman played and sang. 

Lottie entirely forgot herself and her misfortunes. She 
had a natural passion for music, and a fine voice. But 
the supper — that surpassed anything she had ever seen. 

Mrs. Trueman was amused to see her give a quick 
glance of pleased surprise, and then apparently remain 
as unobservant as those always accustomed to such 
things. Evidently she was learning. 

“The party was an entire success, Lucy,” said Mrs. 
Trueman. “I was pleased with you — very much so; 
and Susie, here, was a very good girl. I think our visitors 
were pleased with us, too, with themselves, and with 
each other.” 

“ That is the greatest possible compliment to their 
entertainers,” said Mr. Trueman, smiling. “You both 
look as if you needed rest. I think you have spent the 
afternoon profitably. It is a grand, a noble work, to help 
bring out and cultivate the affections of the young, and 
promote a friendly, cheerful, loving spirit among them. 


WINNIE’S VISIT, AND THE PARTY. 


135 


There is where our forefathers failed ; don^t you think so, 
Linnie ? 

“ Yes, I think that was one of their greatest mistakes. 
The emotional nature was sometimes smothered by the 
sterner qualities, and life robbed of half its beauty and 
brightness. But I fear the next generation will go to 
the other extreme.’^ 


136 


HESTEK STEONG^S LIFE WOEK, 


CHAPTER XV. 

Making Calls here and there. 

We will take a peep at Mr. and Mrs. Stillman. They 
are at breakfast. The table looks inviting, but the faces 
around it sorrowful, or forbidding. 

John’s name is seldom spoken there ; but he is often 
thought of — with painful forebodings by the mother ; 
with undefined fears by the sister. Mr. Stillman was 
absorbed, most of the time, in his lawful calling — deal- 
ing but liquid poison — taking just enough to drown the 
still small voice within. John had shown himself so apt 
a scholar, and seemed so mature in wickedness, made the 
golden profits of the rum casks disappear so strangely, 
that Mr. Stillman thought the safest course was to send 
him to a reform school. 

“ Well, Maria,” said Mr. Stillman, so you have taken 
up the hatchet, and mean to withstand me — do you ? 
We’ll see. You shall go looking decently, or not go 
at all.” 

I should like to see you prevent it,” she said, defiant- 
ly ; but as to decency, I think I dress far more decently 
now than I have done in the past, considering,” — bend- 
ing over towards him, and fixing her eyes steadily upon 
his face, speaking very slowly and impressively, — con- 
sidering where the money comes from. Isn’t it so. Kid 
der ? I tell you, if an angel should engage in that busi- 


MAKING CALLS HEBE AND THEBE. 137 

ness, it would make a demon of him after a while. Well, 
it is no use to talk ; while you continue in that business 
you are nothing to me but a shame. The sooner I die the 
better for me 

‘‘ And for me, too,^^ said the enraged husband, mock- 
ingly. 

Ah, well, you have seen enough of this family to give 
you an insight into their lives. Maria was right in her 
opposition. She was fighting on the right side, and 
against the common enemy. ' 

Let us go with her to Mr. Gray’s. She has been 
there before since the awful tragedy we have mentioned. 
She was met at first suspiciously. Was she not tlie 
wife of the man who had blighted their lives, blasted 
all their happiness ? Why had she come ? To look at 
their poverty and destitution ? They were both embar- 
rassed. 

I called,” she said, '' to see if I could not do some- 
thing for you.” 

She broke down, and wept. That was after the fu- 
neral. Those tears opened the bleeding hearts of the 
family ; they wept together, and then talked it all over, 
and from that day were fast friends. As she heard 
Mr. Gray’s honest, manly statement of facts, she was 
mortified, distressed, and indignant, in turn. 0, what a 
revelation that was to her ! 

'' This distresses you,” said Mr. Gray. “ I will stop ; 
it will do no good.” 

“Yes, it will,” was the reply ; “I ought to know it. 
It seems like some awful story I have read ; and yet all 
this has happened at my very door. How could I have 
been kept in ignorance ? So poor Mrs. Gray inherited 


188 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


one of those morbid appetites for such things. You 
told Mr. Stillman of her weakness, and yet he — She 
remained silent a few moments, and then continued : “ I 
shall do what I can to repair the injury ; but I cannot 
raise the dead. But as fast as I can, I shall buy back 
the articles of furniture, and return them to you. The 
looking-glass is in my spare chamber, I should think, by 
your description.^' 

“ 0," said Mr. Gray, much affected, ** I cannot ask, 
or expect, that. If you will be a friend to my children, 
and show Lottie a little about housekeeping, it will be a 
great kindness." 

** That I will do with pleasure ; and if you won't be 
offended, I have garments, which my children have out- 
grown, that I should like to bring over." 

Persons in our circumstances must conquer their 
pride," was the reply. We should be glad of them." 

As Mrs. Stillman left the house, she thrust a little wad 
of something into Lottie's hand, and disappeared. 

Lottie spread it out. 

“ Ten dollars 1 " she exclaimed. “ What does she 
mean, father ? Why, she has made a mistake." 

guess not, my daughter; God has put it in her 
heart to give it. This will enable me to pay for the 
coffin and the shroud, dear." 

Mr. Gray sighed deeply as he thought of the past ; 
a tear crept very silently down his prematurely wrinkled 
cheek as he took the wife's offering, and went on think- 
ing thoughts which cut and lacerated his soul which- 
ever way he turned them. 0, sometimes God cannot 
bestow a greater blessing than forgetfulness ; and some- 
times it is inexpressibly blessed to remember. Mrs. 
Stillman proved invaluable to the afflicted family. 


MAKING CALLS H£R£ AND THERE. 


139 


To-day, as she left her house to call on them, — a bag 
of sugar, tea, and other necessaries on her arm, a large, 
gilt mirror in them, — her tall form looked queenly, in 
spite of last year’s cloak and bonnet. She did not do this 
stealthily, but openly and by much personal sacrifice. 

“ Father thanks you, and we all thank you very much 
for the money,” said Lottie, meeting her at the door. 
'' It helped him pay for mother’s coffin and things.” 

“ Don’t mention it, dear child, to me or any one. 1 
wish it had been ten times as much. I am only doing 
for you what I ought to do ; and yet I cannot undo the 
past,” she said, mournfully. 

0, don’t feel so badly, dear Mrs. Stillman,” said 
Lottie, affectionately; “you didn’t do it; we don’t 
blame you.” 

Mrs. Stillman was weeping ; she must speak tn some 
one, or her heart would break. She looked up into the 
sweet, pitying face of the child before her, and said, — 

“ Lottie, you cannot understand how much this terri- 
ble business of liquor selling has cost me. It has robbed 
your poor father of that which was very dear ; it has 
killed your mother and the baby, and stripped your 
house of every comfort ; and when I think who fur- 
nished it, I tremble ; for there is an avenging God.” 

“ 0, but father says God loves and pities us, too,” 
said Lottie. “ He forgives us when we are sorry. I 
know he loves you, Mrs. Stillman, you are so good to 
us. Father prays for you every day, and asks him to 
lead you into the kingdom of grace, and give you rest.” 

“ Dear Lottie,” said Mrs. Stillman, taking her hand, 
“ you comfort me. If your father can pray for me, I 
surely ought to pray for myself. You think I am much 
better off than you are — don’t you ? ” 


140 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Why, yes, I thought so,” was the reply. Your 
house is nice, and you have everything — don’t you ? ” 

Mrs. Stillman smiled sadly as she replied, — 

“Yes, I have a great many beautiful things; but 
these cannot make us happy. I have been robbed 
as much as you have, dear, but not in the same way. 
0, I would change places with you this moment, if I 
could.” 

Lottie was perplexed. 

“ Your mother loved you to the last — did she not ? ” 

“0, yes ; when she was sober she loved us ; she was 
never cross.” 

“ And your father is an honest Christian man ; that is 
much to be thankful for. But how are you getting 
along ? Can I help you about anything to-day ? ” 

“Father told me to ask you how I should cook this 
veal.” 

Lottie listened attentively, like one determined to 
profit by instruction. 

“ It is a real pleasure to instruct you,” said Mrs. Still- 
man, “ you are so teachable. You must come over 
when you want advice ; looking after you is one of the 
greatest comforts of my life.” 

“I am glad,” said the simple-hearted child; “fori 
don’t know what I should do if you didn’t help me.” 

“ I hadn’t thought of that before,” mused Mrs. Still 
man, as she went to her home of plenty — of everything 
but peace and comfort. “ I never thought of that. Goc 
is a loving, pitying Father, as well as a just, avenging 
Judge. 0, yes, Jesus was a man of sorrows, and ac- 
quainted with grief. I cannot live so. I wonder what 
Lottie thought of me. Dear child, she cannot know 


MAKING CALLS HEBE AND THERE, 


141 


how awful it is to have the hearths best treasures stolen, 
and the soul stripped of love and respect for one^s com- 
panion in life, and filled with contempt and scorn. 
Truly, I have seen my idol shattered, my poor boy 
ruined, and my pleasant things laid waste. Lord, pity 
me ! ’’ 

Now that Mrs. Stillman has turned her thoughts 
heavenward, let us leave her, and call at Mr. Trueman’s. 
Mrs. Trueman, Lucy, and Susie are preparing for a walk. 
They look odd enough with their baskets, bundles, and 
pails — all they can possibly carry. Lucy laughed 
heartily as she surveyed the company. 

I chose evening,” said Mrs. Trueman, “because it 
would look ostentatious to carry all this in the daytime, 
and injure their feelings. In assisting the poor and 
needy, we should do it as delicately as possible ; other- 
wise it will leave a sense of shame and degradation which 
is injurious to proper self-respect. We will wait a 
moment for papa ; he would not miss going. He will 
take that bundle of clothing for Mr. Gray and Albert. 
Lucy, you may take Lottie’s new dress and cape ; Susie, 
the bonnet and gloves. I want her to forget her sor- 
row as much as possible. She is a noble little girl ; 
these new things will make her think of our love and 
respect.” 

“ Walter wants something — take it,” grieved the 
child. “ Walter wants to go, too.” 

“ Darling child,” said mamma, stooping and kissing 
him ; “ he cannot go with mamma to-night. Father will 
let us ride some day with him, and we will call and see 
the little girl and her brother Albert ; that will do — 
won’t it, darling 1 ” 


142 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Next day — to-morrow — mamma/^ said the child, 
pleasantly, “ Walter and mamma go to ride with papa. 
That do, mamma.’’ 

God is blessing us far beyond our deserts,” said Mr. 
Gray. “ Let us thank him for his goodness in the past, 
and trust him in the future, my children.” 

The Trueman family returned home that night realizing 
fully that it is more blessed to give than to receive.” 


THE SEPABATION. 


143 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The Separation. — The Aged Christianas Death-bed. 

Wallace came bounding into the room one day, say- 
ing, — 

See, auntie, see I Albert and I have found these/' 
holding up some trailing arbutus. 

''0, yes,AA said Hester, ''that looks like spring — 
doesnAt it ? 

" 0, dear me ! a' said Sunshine ; " deyAs my Aittle sweet 
springs I 0, funny, funny I a' 

" I didnAt want to see them,AA said Winnie, timidly. 

" DidnAt you, dear ? Why not ? said Hester, who 
guessed the reason. 

" Why, they say things, auntie ; everything talks to 
me.AA 

" Why, dese donAf talk, a ' said Sunshine ; " donAt you 
love my springs ? ’’ 

" What do they say ? ” said Hester. " Tell auntie 
about it. A A 

" 0, they say, ' Winnie, it is May now ; you must go 
to aunt EleviaAs, and leave auntie and Wallace, Elida and 
baby. A a' 

" What else talks ? a a said Wallace. 

'* Everything ; the chimney on the large house away 
over the woods talks, too. It looks like papaAs house, 
where grandma Lentell lives. a ' 


144 


HESTER STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


What do it say ? said Elida, with wondering eyes. 

She means that these things remind her of other 
things, or make her remember them/^ said Hester. “My 
dear child, you must not let things talk to you so much ; 
that is, you must not look at things that make you feel 
unhappy — remind you of unpleasant events. But you 
must look at things that remind you of the goodness of 
God and the kindness of friends. 

“ What things are those ? said Wallace. 

“ Why, little brother and sisters, the nice presents from 
grandpa, and kind Mr. Trueman^s folks, said Hester. 

“ And at my darling dear auntie,’^ said Winnie, cheer- 
fully. “ If I could always look at you, auntie, things 
wouldn’t talk so sadly to me. But this baby almost 
always makes me think of mamma. And then I think 
how papa, and mamma, and Elida, all went down to 
grandpa Lovering’s, in the winter before mamma died ; 
and how they were coming home that very night, but a 
great big snow came, and the wind blew, and piled it all 
up so they couldn’t get home for one, two, three — four 
days, wasn’t it, Wallace ? And we hadn’t anything but 
potatoes to eat, for papa left us with grandma Lentell 
till he came home ; but aunt Abigail and grandma acted 
so we wouldn’t stay. We ran home in the snow before 
night, for we thought they’d come; but they didn’t. 0, 
it was such a long night ! Wallace went to sleep, but I 
couldn’t; for I thought papa and mamma would get into 
the deep snow, in the dark ; and when the wind made a 
noise, I thought it was them. 0, dear, dear I it makes 
me shiver now.” 

“ What did grandma do, that you disliked so much ? ” 
said Hester. 


THE SEPARATION. 


145 


“ Why, she said I looked like the Loverings too much ; 
and when I said, ‘ No, I thank you,’ she and Abigail 
laughed so loud, and said, ^ That’s Lovering all over.’ 
And they kept doing so, and saying my mamma was 
slack, until I was just as mad ! ” 

I wouldn’t say 'mad,’ dear,” said Hester; " you felt 
indignant, I suppose ; I should, I am sure.” 

"Yes, that was the way I felt ; and I told Wallace we 
would run home when they didn’t know it, and stay till 
the folks came.” 

" Did any one come to see where you were ? ” 

"Yes, uncle Simeon came, just before it was dark, and 
wanted us to go home with him. I said I couldn’t, for 
grandma didn’t love us. He laughed, and said I was a 
little goose to mind her, for she didn’t love anybody. 
But I couldn’t go ; I thought they’d come. He said he’d 
stay, but mother would storm worse than the snow if he 
did. So the next day after one he came and brought us 
something in a pail, and said, ' Mother says you deserve 
to starve for running home ; but she has sent you some- 
thing, little spunk.’ I was real glad, for I thought, now 
we’ll have some nice doughnuts, or pancakes, or pie, or 
something good. So I got a tin pan to put them in, and 
he just took out some dry pieces of bread, most all crust, 
and some pieces of cheese. Uncle Simeon said an awful 
thing then, auntie; he said she was ‘ a mean old cuss.’ ” 

" My dear children,” said Hester, " I dislike to have 
you repeat such language. You will try to avoid it in 
the future^ — won’t you ? Didn’t you have anything but 
potatoes all that time ? ” 

"0, yes, auntie; at first there was some bread and 
meat ; but we ate that up pretty soon.” 

10 


146 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


What did your father say, when he came ? 

^^Why, he’^ — AVinnie hesitated — ^‘why, he said just 
as uncle Simeon did/^ 

Did he say old tuss ? said Elida. 

“ There, said Hester, you see how quickly the little 
ones catch such words. So you must be careful not to 
speak them.^^ 

“ Yes,^^ said Winnie, I will. But after father went 
over there, he said she served us right ; we ought to 
have staid where he left us. They brought lots of nice 
things from grandpa Lovering^s. I was glad I was like 
them, for I think they are the best — don’t you, auntie 
** Yes, dear, I do ; and I like to have you resemble 
them, for I love them very much.’^ 

After a few moments' silence, Winnie said, — 

** How long is a year, auntie ? " 

‘‘ It is twelve months, darling." 

Well, how many weeks are there in a year? " 

** Fifty-two." 

0, that is a great many," sighed Winnie. Well, 
how many days, auntie ? " 

“ Three hundred and — " 

0, auntie, don't say any more. It never will be 
over." 

Of what are you thinking now, dear ? " 

Why, I am to stay with aunt Elevia a year ; and it 
is so very long." 

Hester saw her mistake in specifying any time in the 
child's hearing. She hardly knew what to say. She 
reflected a moment, and then said, cheerfully, — 

“ Perhaps they won't want you so long, or perhaps 
you will want to stay always. There come your uncle 


THE SEPARATION. 


U1 


and aunt this moment. Now, see what a brave little 
girl you can be.^^ 

Winnie turned pale, and Hester herself felt strangely 
agitated. She, too, had to be brave. When Winnie 
was prepared to go, she went in to take leave of grandpa 
Manlie’s family. 

‘‘ God bless you, my dear little girl,^^ said grandpa, 

and keep you, and bring you into the kingdom at last.'' 

Grandma laid her hand on the child's head, prayed 
silently for a moment, and then said, — 

Kiss me, little Winnie, good by." 

You must come and see us often," said Martha, 
striving to hide her emotion. Something in her mother's 
voice and manner affected her. Winnie kissed the chil- 
dren, calling the baby manj’- pet names ; but when she 
came to Hester, she threw her arms convulsively around 
her neck, overcome with suppressed emotion. 

Hester allowed her to weep a few moments, simply 
drawing her close to her bosom, and motioning the 
others to be silent. She then led her into another room, 
and said, — 

'' Our Father in heaven has ordered it so, darling. He 
knows what is best for us — don't you think so ? " 

Yes, auntie ; but I am so wicked I can't get near 
enough to him. He is away off. And Jesus is good, 
and wants to comfort me ; but I am so naughty I want to 
stay with you, -r— I love you best, — or go to mamma. I 
wish I could love Jesus best." 

Hester talked very kindly to the child, and then, kneel- 
ing down by her, prayed that God would bless little 
Winnie, and forgive her sins for Jesus' sake; that the 
Blessed Spirit would teach her to be good and happy — 


148 HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 

teach her to cast all her sorrows upon Jesus, who loved 
her and died to redeem her. '' Dear Father, she prayed, 
" wilt thou pity and love her, and help her to love and 
trust in thee ! — Now, dear,^^ said she, I want you to 
promise me that you won^t talk with things that make you 
sad, but when you are lonesome and feel badly, go and tell 
Jesus. He alone can make you happy. He will draw 
you so near to him that you will feel safe. Good by, 
dear — be brave.’’ 

When Winnie had left the room, grandma said, with 
a smile on her wrinkled face, — 

“ Martha, it is the last time. I shan’t see her here 
again. I shall take that kiss to Harmony and Mary 
soon.” 

Grandpa arose, went to the bed where she had been 
lying several weeks, took her hand as tenderly as he had 
taken it more than sixty years before, when he said, 
Mary, will you be mine — take me for better and for 
worse ? ” and said, — 

Mary, are you tired ? Are you going home to leave 
me? 0, Mary, I hoped we should go together — can’t 
we ? ” bursting into tears. 

“ Sit down near me, father ; I want to talk about this. 
I have been lingering on the shore some time ; I wasn’t 
willing to go over alone, dear. I have waited for you. 
We have travelled a long, long way together, and the 
road has been rough sometimes ; sickness and death have 
met us on the way ; but you have been true, dear — true 
as the needle to the pole, and kind as a mother could be 
to the child at her breast. 


‘ We have borne each other’s sorrows, 
And shared each other’s joys,* — 


THE AGED CHRISTIAN’S DEATH-BED. 


149 


havenH we, dear ? Don^t weep so ; it will break my 
heart. It is only a little while and you will be called ; 
Jesus will come over with you. Martha will be a tender 
nurse, dear ; comfort her when I am gone. She will 
miss us less if we go one at a time. By and by we 
shall all get home. Glory be to God and the Lamb I 

“ But, mother, said Martha, what shall we do with- 
out you ? What makes you think you are going ? You 
were as feeble as this last spring. 0, we can^t spare 
you.^^ 

** 0, yes, you can, child : ‘ As thy day, so shall thy 
strength be.^ God will support you : hasn^t he always ? 
Are you not willing I should enter into rest, my child ? 
I shall have an abundant entrance. I hear my Saviour 
calling, and I long to go. Remember that ‘ he doeth all 
things well,^ and bless the hand that leads me to my 
Father’s house.” 

The voice faltered ; she fell into a gentle, quiet sleep, 
never speaking again on earth. She lingered several 
days, knew them, and smiled faintly when they talked to 
her of Jesus and heaven. She motioned Hester to sing, 
and looked serenely happy while she sang, — 

“ ‘ What’s this that steals, that steals upon me now? 

Is it death? is it death? 

If this be death, I soon shall be 
From every sin and sorrow free ; 

I shall the King of Glory see ! 

All is well ! all is well ! ’ ” 

Grandpa said but little. He sat by the bed, holding 
the faded hand as if it had been an infant’s, kissing the 
wrinkled cheek reverently. Thus they waited and 
watched, cheering each other by speaking of the better 
land. 


160 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


‘‘ 0, Hester/’ said Martha, leaning on her broad 
shoulder, “you comfort and sustain me in this trying 
• hour. I would not hold her back, but I dread to have 
her go.” 

“ You will be willing when the time comes,” said 
Hester! “ But we must restrain our grief for grandpa’s 
sake,” she whispered. “ Their souls are so knit together 
that when one is loosed the other will feel it deeply. I 
fear for him.” 

0, how eagerly he watched the flickering light I 
placed his trembling finger on the feeble pulse I He 
groaned a deep, inward groan when the light went out 
and the pulses stopped. 

“Rejoice,” said Hester; “she is with the angels I 
Rejoice ; she has entered into rest I The Lord reigneth ; 
he doeth all things well. Let us pray.” • 

She stepped lightly, she walked softly with God, pray- 
ing that the Spirit might indite her petitions, comfort 
and heal these bleeding hearts. They were comforted 
and sustained, and blessed anew the Father of all mer- 
cies for giving them Hester Strong. 


THE NEW HOME AND ITS TBIALS. 


151 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The New Home and its Trials. — Mr. Wilet's 
Family. 

This is a much more desirable home, Winnie, than 
the one you have left,^’ said Mr. Giles. I hope you 
will try to deserve it, and be so obedient and industrious 
that I shall be willing to let you stay. It isn^t every 
destitute child that is so fortunate. DonH you think 
this is a nice house ? he inquired. ** Were you ever 
in one like it before ? 

Winnie was embarrassed ; grandpa Manlie^s old-fash- 
ioned house was much more desirable to her. She was 
longing for the dear home left, its dusky walls, and 
the dear faces around the capacious hearth. 

** 1 think this is a pretty house,^’ she said, timidly ; 
** it is something like the one papa built. 

Mr. Giles gave a low whistle, and remarked to his 
wife, — 

** She^s got the Lovering pride ; will never be grateful, 
do what you will for her.^' 

“ Gratitude is a rare virtue,^' said Elevia, quietly ; it 
thrives best in an atmosphere of unselfish love. I think 
my dear little niece has proved conclusively that she has 
a loving, grateful heart. I shouldnH wish to have her 
manifest more feeling, than she did when leaving Hes- 
ter/' 


152 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** She had better have staid with her, then, in that 
dingy old house. I dare say it is more like home to her 
than this,^’ was the cutting reply. Winnie turned red, 
then pale, as she thought, — 

Then they don’t want me, either.” 

Elevia read her thoughts. Calling her into the nursery, 
where Unie was sleeping, she gave her a pretty, enter- 
taining book to read, and requested her to sit by baby 
and keep her asleep. She returned to the room where 
her husband was sitting, went up to him, and spoke his 
name softly, but sadly. 

** What now ? ” was the ungracious reply ; ‘‘ another 
scene ? I am sick of them.” 

“ I don’t wish for another scene,” was the reply ; 
“ the one on hand is to be my theme. I am sorry you 
should wound the child’s feelings so. I told you be- 
fore she came, that I should not let her come to be 
abused. She had far better go to the workhouse. I 
told you I would try to get along with her assistance, if 
you would treat her kindly. Otherwise, she shall not stay 
and you will be under the necessity of hiring help.” 

‘‘Whew ! ” said Mr. Giles. “That is rule No. 4 — 
isn’t it ? First, I am to treat you just the same at home 
as abroad, alone and in company. A capital joke I Then 
1 am to give you money to keep by you, without asking 
you to account for it. Good! Then I am to replenish 
the family larder without comment — that’s it, I believe. 
And now I am to treat a beggar like a princess. Am 1 
correct. Lev ? ” 

Mr. Giles whistled “ Moll Brooks,” &c. Elevia stood 
there waiting, very calmly, to all appearance, but her 
heart beat painfully. 


THE NEW HOME AND ITS TRIALS. 


163 


.“Mason/^she said, choking down her emotion, ‘^you 
treat these things lightly. I, at least, am serious and in 
earnest. I was never more so in my life. I cannot, 
and I will not, bear these insults. I shall not live a year 
in this way ; and on my own account I do not wish to.’^ 
You needn’t live on my account,” was the mocking 
reply. Don’t, I beg of you. There are plenty of 
handsome girls waiting and wishing to become Mrs. Giles 
second ; so don’t put yourself out.” He laughed as 
only such persons can laugh. 

Defeated again,” sighed Elevia. '' 0 God, there is 
nothing left for me but misery or death. But that 
child’s life shall not be blasted in this house. I might 
have known it would be so. Why could he not have 
told me frankly that he should treat her like a bond- 
girl, before she came ? I told him I should receive her 
as a beloved child, and that he must not go for her unless 
he was willing to do the same. He made no objections. 
How foolish I am to expect anything better of him I ” 
Winnie laid the pretty book in her lap unread. She 
was thinking. Child as she was, what she had seen and 
heard in her new home filled her with sadness. She felt 
that this would never, never seem like home. She felt 
sure her aunt was not happy, and wondered why it was. 
Her house was very nice, and all the things in it were 
new and beautiful. Her mind was sorely perplexed. 
She did not think it strange her uncle did not want her ; 
no one did ; and the old wish to die and go to mamma 
came back with overpowering force. She began to weep 
violently. Baby stirred ; she stifled the bitter sobs 
nobly, saying, — 

0, dear I I am always doing something. There, I 


154 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


mustn^t cry now ; it will wake the baby. To-night, when 
they are all asleep, I’ll cry. No, I guess I will tell Jesus 
about it ; auntie said I must. 0, mother, mother,” she 
cried, ‘‘your little girl is sad.” 

Thus Winnie rocked the cradle, and talked with her 
own thoughts, till baby awoke. This was the longest 
half day she had ever seen. 

“ Three* hundred and sixty-four and a half more of 
them ! ” she mused, clasping her small hands tightly. 
Mrs. Giles exerted herself very much to banish the un- 
favorable impressions of the afternoon from Winnie’s 
mind, and partially succeeded. She went to her room 
with her when she retired. 

“You shall go to see aunt Hester and the children 
every week,” she said, “ and carry the milk over to Mr. 
Wiley’s every pleasant morning. Envena is about your 
age.” 

“ Who is Mr. Wiley ? ” inquired Winnie. 

“ 0, he married your uncle Mason’s sister. They live 
in the large white house over there,” pointing in the 
direction. 

“ Please, what dress shall I put on in the morning, 
auntie ? ” 

“ 0, your red one, I guess, for you are a stranger in 
this neighborhood.” Winnie was pleased with the novel- 
ty of carrying the milk, and wondered what they would 
say to her, till her aunt took the light, kissed her, and 
said good night. 

Now, she was left up stairs alone for the first time in 
her life. She had nearly always fallen asleep amid the 
hum of voices, or while listening to mother or aunt 
Hester singing to the children. A feeling of indescrib- 


THE NEW HOME AND ITS TBIALS. 


166 


able loneliness, amounting to fear, crept over her. She 
covered her face. 

I didn’t pray,” she whispered, ''that is the reason I 
feel so. But I am afraid to get up in the dark. I won- 
der if God won’t hear me if I pray in bed.” She crawled 
away down under the clothes, listening for she knew not 
what. Remembering that her mother prayed when she 
was so very sick, and that she seemed easier afterwards, 
Winnie resolved to pray. She tried to think of the words 
aunt Hester used in the morning, but could not. " 0 
God, my Father in heaven,” was all she could say for 
some time. This she repeated over and over, with sobs 
and tears. "Dear Jesus, I am a poor little girl that 
nobody wants, because there are so many of us. Do, 
Jesus, let me go to mamma ; there is room there. 0, let 
me come to you, dear Jesus ; let me come to you. Help 
me to submit.” Thus she prayed and wept, until, re- 
lieved, she fell asleep. 

0, ye of little faith, can ye not believe that Jesus, 
the loving, pitying Jesus, sent the Comforter to that lone- 
ly, suffering one, in answer to that feeble, broken prayer ? 
Verily so it was. Winnie arose, with a calm, peaceful 
feeling, in the morning. She did not forget to thank God 
for all his goodness, and ask him to give her a new heart. 

" 0, I know now what my Father in heaven wants of 
me,” she mused. " He wants me to comfort aunt Elevia, 
she is so sad. I guess her husband don’t love her much. 
She looks like my dear mamma. She used to fold me in 
her arms, and say, ' You are mother’s comfort, darling.’ 
How happy that used to make me ! Nothing can ever 
make me very happy again, I think ; but aunt Hester 
says I shall be happier than ever before, when this cloud 


166 


HESTEB STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


passes over, if I trust in Jesus, and live to make others 
happy. 

Dear Jesus, I want to love you more, and trust you, 
and be like you. Won^t you teach me, and help me to 
do right ? — 0, I forgot to ask God to bless anybody but 
myself.^^ She knelt again, to invoke the blessing of God 
upon the dear ones at home, not forgetting her earthly 
parent, and then hurried down to see what she could do 
for her aunt. 

I must look cheerful, she thought. Aunt Hester 
says that is one way to do good.^^ 

Mrs. Giles met her with a kind good morning, inquired 
how she had rested, &c. ; but Winnie saw at a glance that 
she was sad and weary ; so she did not say, ‘‘ What can I 
do for you ? but looked sharp to see where she was 
most needed. Baby was sitting in the cradle, reaching 
out its arms to its weary mother, and moaning piteously. 
Winnie was a skilful little general in baby tactics ; so she 
took advantage of her position, and very soon baby for- 
got its aching teeth, and was having a nice frolic. 

Mamma forgot her weariness as she listened to the 
jubilant children. The breakfast was ready in season, 
and Mr. Giles was at a loss to find fault with anything. 
His wife began to take courage. 

“ Elevia, I think you use more coffee than you need to. 
Now, it isn^t a mite better for being too strong. I have 
told you so a great many times. I do wish you would 
pay attention to what I say. Coffee costs money.’' He 
waited for a reply. Elevia was silent. 

“ Why don’t you answer me ? ” he inquired, indig- 
nantly. 

What was your question ? ” was the reply ; I heard 
none.” 


THE NEW HOME AND ITS TRIALS. 


157 


“ There it comes, the real Lovering pride and stubborn- 
ness. I say the coffee is too strong.’^ 

'‘Yes, I heard you say that. I have heard you say it 
several times lately. Day before yesterday it was too 
weak. About half the time it is too weak, and the other 
half too strong ; and yet for the last few weeks I have 
been' particular to put in just the quantity you specified. 
Now, if you will tell me just how much less to put in, I 
will try to suit you. But I tell you plainly that I will 
not submit to so much unreasonable fault-finding.’^ 

Elevia broke down, as she always did ; and the tears 
came trickling slowly down her cheeks, which were really 
very pale and thin. 

" 0, well, you needn’t cry ; I am used to that,” was 
the insulting reply. " Your tears move me about as 
much as your threats. You ‘ will not submit ; ’ ' will 
not’ — that is getting to be a common expression with 
you. I should like to know what you will do about it. 
If a man can’t have his way in his own house, where 
upon earth can he ? If a man can’t be master in his own 
family, he isn’t a man.” 

“ I agree with you, Mr. Giles. I never objected to 
your being master here.” She spoke calmly, looking 
him steadily in the face. " I claim to be the mistress in 
this house ; if I am not, what am I ? You didn’t buy 
me of my father — did you ? ” 

" No ; but I wish I had,” was the cool reply. “ I 
would break that stubborn will, or worse than that,” with 
a look so full of bitter scorn and hate, that Winnie be- 
came alarmed. Thus the meal ended, and Mr. Giles went 
to his daily labor, much to her relief. She pitied her 
aunt more than ever, and sought for opportunities to cheer 


168 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and help her ; wishing all the time that she could tell her 
of Jesus, and the way to be happy. 

“ Now you can go and carry the milk to Mr. Wiley^s,’’ 
said her aunt, '' and invite Envena to come over this 
afternoon, and go out a little while with you to search 
for May-flowers. Should you like to ? 

“Yes, auntie, very much ; but you are almost sick. 
I should rather stay and play with Unie, and let you rest.’’ 
Elevia was so unused to kindness or consideration recent- 
ly, that this thoughtfulness affected her. She stooped 
and kissed the upturned mouth, saying, — 

“ You are a darling child ; auntie loves you very much.” 
“ That sounds like my mamma,” said Winnie, smiling 
through the tears which just then sprang unbidden to 
her eyes. “ I am glad you love me, and I want you to 
tell me of it a good many times, because I forget ; and I 
am so naughty, I think nobody can love me much. Aunt 
Hester says everybody loves me, and I think they do ; 
but I shouldn’t think they could. But there is somebody 
else I want you to love, auntie,” she said, timidly. 

“ Who is it, dear ? Aunt Hester and the children ? 
I love them ever so much.” 

“ No, auntie ; I want you to love our Father in heaven, 
and Jesus. Mother used to call him the sinner’s Friend. 
She loved him, and I am trying to love him ; and to-day 
I think he loves me. I feel as if I just wanted him to 
take my hand and lead me ; and when I cry, I would 
love to have him wipe the tears away, as mamma did ; 
and when I am sick, I want to lay my head on his bosom 
and rest. God don’t seem so far off as he did. 0, auntie, 
do you think I have really found him ? ” 

“ I hope so, dear ; I should think so. How long have 
you felt in that way ? ” 


ME. WILEY’S FAMILY. 


159 


** 0, only this morning. Last night I felt so bad I 
wanted to die ; but I was afraid of God, and so I prayed 
as fast as I could, and by and by I felt better, and began 
to say mammals hymn, — 

^ Jesus, Lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly.* 

It seemed to me as if he did open his arms wide, and I 
crept in, and didn^t feel alone. And then I went to sleep, 
and never waked up till morning. And this morning I 
feel so different I don^t want to go to mamma, but stay 
to comfort you. Mamma is just as happy as she can 
be without us — isn^t she, auntie ? 

Elevia hardly knew what to say. 

0 that I, too, could find Jesus I she thought. 1 
need him. Perhaps this darling child has come to lead 
me to him.^^ 

Yes, dear,'^ she replied, I think your mother is 
supremely happy, and I believe you have become a Chris- 
tian, one of Christas little ones. I hope it is so ; and 
now you shall be my teacher.^' 

** 0, not your teacher, auntie ; the Holy Spirit must 
be your Teacher ; mother used to say so, and auntie 
Hester says so. Let me be your comforter ; that is what 
mother called me.’^ Winnie thought, as she tripped 
lightly along, — 

** ^Tis beautiful out here. I never was in such a lovely 
place before. The willows are so pretty, shaking their 
leaves in the sun ! How fresh the grass is ! it looks as 
if God had kissed it in the night. I guess the birdies 
love him better than they did, they sing so sweetly. I 


160 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


wonder if I can sing any better than I could before. 1^11 
sing aunt Hester’s hymn : — 

‘Rejoice! rejoice! the promised day is coming; 

Rejoice ! rejoice ! the wilderness shall bloom,’ ” 

sang the youthful disciple, with great satisfaction, little 
thinking that the change, the beautiful, sublime change, 
was in her own soul, wrought there by the transforming 
grace of God. 

Aunt Elevia let me bring the milk this morning,” 
said Winnie, when Mr. Wiley had opened the door. 

Well, come in,” was the reply. ‘‘ Envena has been 
wanting to come over and see you. “ Here, Venie, here 
is the little girl you are so curious to see. She looks 
like any other child — don’t she ? ” Envena received her 
very cordially, smiled, and said many pleasant things. 
She praised her hair, wished hers was as pretty ; praised 
her dress, and wished she could have one like it. Win- 
nie was delighted with her new friend. She longed to 
tell her of Jesus, but dared not. She invited her to come 
over and play with her and the baby, after dinner. 

I should like to come,” said Envena, as she walked 
a little piece with Winnie; ‘‘but I shouldn’t think my 
aunt Elevia would keep you cooped up in the house this 
pleasant day. I run out of doors all the time ; it is more 
healthy.” 

“0, she wants me to go out; but she is almost sick, 
and I’d rather stay in and tend the baby.” 

“ She isn’t very sick,” said Envena, in a soft, loving 
tone ; “I wouldn’t wait upon her, if I were you ; but 
perhaps you are used to working hard, and don’t care to 
play. Did your father buy that dress for you ? My 


MR. WILEY’S FAMILY. 


161 


father is able, but mother says he is stingy. 0, now Pve 
hurt your feelings. Pm sorry ; forgive me — wont you ? I 
am real glad you have come to live here ; we can go to 
school together, and have nice times. 

Winnie brightened up ; she didn’t like some things her 
new friend had said ; but she was so pleasant, so gentle 
and affectionate, that she was, on the whole, quite sure 
she was a good little girl, and didn’t mean any harm. 

11 


162 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Good Shepherd’s Watchfulness. — The Disclosure. 

— The Burial. 

Winnie was beginning to feel quite at home in her 
uncle’s house. She had something to do ; she was 
needed. Mrs. Giles was becoming so feeble that her 
time was all occupied in useful, loving labor. She saw 
Envena daily ; was fascinated with her, she was so 
thoughtful, so tender, and loving ; but somehow there 
was a little tinge of unhappiness left in her mind after 
every interview — something of regret or mortification — 
— something which made her feel that her lot was hard, 
that her aunt was just the least bit to be blamed for 
something, that the baby was troublesome, &c. And so 
the child-Christian had to flee to Christ often, and on her 
bended knees, with clasped hands, beseech him to give 
her a submissive heart. She remembered aunt Hester’s 
motto — “Submission to God is a sure and safe pass- 
port to peace and happiness.” And the good Shepherd, 
true to his promise, always gave her an answer of peace, 
and extracted the little poison arrows which had been 
so naturally and skilfully sent into her sensitive soul by 
one perfectly qualified by nature and education to de- 
ceive and wound without disgusting or alienating the 
victim. 


THE GOOD SHEPHERD’S WATCHFULNESS. 


163 


Elevia saw daily new evidence that Winnie was in- 
deed a Christian. She herself felt an indescribable 
yearning after something to lean upon — some place to 
rest — a refuge from the storms of life. Both mind and 
body were weak ; she could not grasp the strong, safe 
anchor of hope which was just in sight. She was faint 
and weary with the conflict in her own soul, and the 
unjust treatment of her husband. 

The week had passed, yet Winnie had not visited or 
heard from her old home. She was longing to go and 
tell them what Christ had done for her ; but her aunt 
seemed so unwell and sad, that she was not willing to 
leave her. 

Just then grandpa Lovering drove up to the door. 
She was delighted, for now,^^ she thought, ** I shall 
hear all about them, and he will see how sick and un- 
happy auntie is, and he will do something for her. 

0, grandpa, she exclaimed, rushing out to meet 
him, I am so glad youVe come ! Auntie is sick, and I 
am so different I I want to tell you.’^ 

** Why,^^ said he, in surprise, “ is Elevia sick ? I saw 
Mason yesterday ; he did not speak of it. But what has 
come over my little girl ? taking her hand and starting 
for the house. 

0, I am a great deal happier than I was. I hope 
I have learned to submit. God is very near, and I love 
him. I don^t want to go to mamma. Jesus is my 
Saviour, and I want to serve him here.'^ 

Tears came into grandpa’s eyes as he patted the up- 
turned cheek and said, — 

I thank God that my little Winnie has chosen that 
better part, which shall not be taken from her.” 


164 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


He was grieved to see Elevia looking so pale and thin, 
so weary and hopeless. 

“ Elevia, child, come here and sit on father^s knee ; 
perhaps it will do us both good. How long have you 
been so weak, dear ? Does Mason know how ill you are ? 
I inquired yesterday ; he said you were well.’^ 

‘‘ 0, father, father,^^ sobbed Elevia, overcome by those 
few tender words, take me home with you. 0, take 
me somewhere ; I cannot breathe here. Se hates me ; 
he has told me so, many, many times. 

Mr. Lovering folded his strong arms around the shrink- 
ing wife, and said, — 

If that is true, my daughter, you shall go. Thank 
God, I have a home for you. But you are sick and sensi- 
tive — nervous, perhaps. Poor child, you need your 
mother. What a loss she was to us all 1 There, lie on 
father’s breast ; I know it isn’t as soft as hers, but it is 
true, Levie.” 

She wept on. Now that the gates were open, it was 
hard to close them. 

** Impossible,” mused grandpa, aloud, impossible. 
How pleasant he seemed yesterday I and yet I have felt 
at times that all was not quite right. Winnie, don’t you 
think uncle Mason loves my little Levie here, and means 
to be kind to her ?” 

I don’t know what he does mean, grandpa,” was the 
simple, honest reply ; but he don’t act as if he loved 
her. He scolds awfully when he is alone with her, and 
doesn’t behave a bit good. He pushed her this morning 
because she couldn’t fix his collar right.” 

Mr. Lovering was shocked and confounded by the 
child’s reply. He could not speak for seyeral moments. 
He then said, — 


THE DISCLOSURE. 


166 


** What did your aunt say, Winnie ? 

** 0, she cried, and went up stairs. Uncle Mason was 
real pleasant to me when she was gone ; said I was 
beautiful, and could do things better than my aunt. 
He tried to give me some raisins, but I couldn’t take 
them, I felt so ; and then he went out.” 

Where is he now ? ” he inquired. “ I must see and 
converse with him. But* I came to carry you over to 
mother Manlie’s funeral.” 

Why, is she dead ? ” asked Elevia and Winnie in a 
b^ath. 

Yes ; didn’t Mason tell you ? I asked him to bring 
you, but he said his engagements were such that he 
could not ; so I concluded to come myself.” 

“ He didn’t mention it,” said Elevia, forgetting to 
weep. “ Poor grandfather and aunt Martha, how they 
will miss her ! ” 

Yes,” was the reply, but Hester is there, like a 
tower of strength for them to lean on ; and they have an 
Almighty Friend, who sticketh closer than a brother, you 
know. 0, my daughter, why will you not make him 
your Friend also ? You need religion ; why will you not 
come to Christ ? He will give you rest and peace.” 

I am trying, father ; but I am so unworthy I I was 
so thoughtless about these things when I was happy at 
home ; and when I was married, then I thought I was 
happy enough without religion. I worshipped Mason. 
But I must see grandma again before they bury her. 
How often she has tried to lead me to Christ I 0, 1 must 
see her.” 

** Do you feel strong enough to go, dear ? ” asked Mr. 
Lovering. 


166 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** Yes, I think I am. I must go ; I want to see Hes- 
ter and all of them so much.^^ 

** Well, my daughter, 'I think you had better go. I 
will find Mason and talk with him while you are getting 
ready.’’ 

"^0, father, if he knows I have told you anything, 
how shall I stay here ? ” she said, with a startled look. 

“ What, Elevia, afraid of your husband ! afraid of 
him I Has it come to this ? Rest easy, my dear child. I 
will wait, and be very wise.” 

Elevia was reassured. Winnie was very quiet and 
helpful. She anticipated all her aunt’s wishes, and did 
all in her power to help her. 

“ You are such a comfort, Winnie I ” she said ; so 
different from what I was at your age ! I don’t know 
what I should do without you.” 

Winnie smiled through her tears, feeling amply paid 
for her efforts. 

I am so glad I can help you I ” she said ; “it makes 
me happy. I thought when mamma died I should never 
be a comfort to anybody again. God is very good, and 
grandma Manlie has gone to live with him, and before 
this she has found my sweet mamma. 0, they are so 
joyful up there ! I can almost hear them sing. Now 
mamma will hear from us. I wish, 0, I wish she could 
know I have found the way.” 

“ She will know it, dear ; the angels rejoice when sin- 
ners repent ; she will know it.” 

Mr. Lovering tried to banish all coldness from his 
manner when he met his son-in-law, and treat him with 
cordiality. 

“ 1 came over to take your family to the funeral,” said 


THE DISCLOSURE. 


167 


he. I wish you could go. You forgot to mention it 
to Elevia.’’ 

Yes, I declare it slipped my mind. Is Levie going? 
She don’t seem well to-day. I am afraid the excitement 
will be too much for her.” 

'^0, I guess it won’t hurt her,” said Mr. Lovering, 
clinching the right hand intp his hair. “ No, I guess it 
won’t hurt her to go. She looks feeble — very. I fear 
she is going the way of Harmony and her mother. Have 
you consulted a physician ? ” 

No, I haven’t ; she isn’t willing to do anything for 
herself. She wouldn’t take medicine if she had it.” 

“ I think she needs rest more than anything,” said 
Mr. Lovering. The babe is fretful. If you could 
bring her, and the baby, and Winnie, over to my house 
for a few weeks, it would be a good thing. I’m thinking 
you’ll have to hire a nurse soon if you don’t.” 

0, I have no idea she would be willing to go,” was 
the reply; ^^and as to hiring help, she preferred the 
little girl Winnie. I couldn’t think of having two.” 

“ 0, ah,” said Mr. Lovering, almost losing command 
of himself; 0, I guess she would come if you wished 
it. But Winnie is to go to school, you remember ; that 
was the condition — wasn’t it ? You told me your prop- 
erty amounted to fifteen thousand, I believe, when you 
asked for my daughter. I should think that would en- 
able you to keep help when your wife is sick,” he said, 
in a jocose way. ‘‘But I must go; the funeral is at 
two. Come over ; I have an excellent housekeeper now, 
and have been making some alterations in my house. 
Judith is rather troublesome, and I have a very summary 
way of getting along with such folks without quarrelling. 


168 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


You see, when folks canH live without a perpetual quar- 
rel, they had better be separated — don’t you think so 

** Why, yes, I suppose that is the best way,” stam- 
mered Mr. Giles. 

“Well, I have closed all doors between the two fami- 
lies. 0, if I had known how it was I should have saved 
my wife some vexatious things. I mean to treat Judith 
well ; she has her good qualities, but she is stingy and 
selfish. Bring Levie over soon. Good by.” 

There was a great gathering at the funeral ; children 
and grandchildren, friends and neighbors, came to sym- 
pathize with the mourners, and pay a last tribute of 
respect to Mrs. Manlie, who was loved and esteemed for 
her many virtues. Hester, by common consent, led the 
aged mourner to the coffin, and supported his tottering 
steps, in company with the weeping Martha, to the vil- 
lage graveyard, which was close at hand. 

“ Lean hard as you please, father,” she whispered, as 
they neared the spot, and her eye fell upon a marble 
slab with this inscription : — 

To THE Memory op 
HORACE ILi. 

Who Died in 1829, Aged 28. 

As she stood there waiting, she glanced back for a 
moment, sighed deeply, and then looked steadily into the 
future. Faith arose triumphant. She felt like joining in 
the exultant song of triumph with the redeemed beyond 
the veil. The harsh rattling of the falling earth upon the 
coffin disturbed the glorious vision. The aged pilgrim 
leaned heavily upon her arm. She felt the bowed form 
shrink and tremble at every grating sound. 


THE BURIAL. 


169 


Shall we go? she whispered. They are not 
here — ‘ dust to dust ’ — but they are among the angels, 
and near the throne. 0, they cannot come to us ; thank 
God, we can go to them. What a joyful meeting ! ’’ 
Hester, said grandpa Manlie, after the funeral, 
“ Horace could not have comforted me, supported my 
feeble steps, and cared for me, more tenderly than you 
have. They should have named you ‘ Comfort.’ Let us 
have but one table, one home, after this. I need you, 
and Martha needs you.” 

‘‘ It is a great happiness to me,” said Hester, ‘‘to be 
able to fill Horace’s place to you in a small degree. But 
won’t the children trouble you ? ” 

“ No ; they will be a blessing. I will keep our room 
— Mary’s and mine — just the same. We will have a 
common sitting-room — all things common but that room. 
When I feel like seeing any one in there, I will say so.” 

Martha joined in his request^ and Hester gave a cheer- 
ful consent. 

“ We shan’t quarrel,” said Martha, “ unless Hester 
claims more than her share of the work.” 

“ Well,” said Hester, “you must let me do just all I 
please. I am strong, both by name and nature. But I 
see another diflSculty — Martha will be claiming a full 
share of the care of the children, and their affections, too.” 

“ The baby is to be my especial charge,” said grandpa. 
“ I want to call her ‘ Mary.’ ” 

“ Mary Fostina isn’t a bad name,” said Hester. “ I 
like it. We will call her that.” 

It was affecting to witness his watchful tenderness of 
the little one. Her cradle was admitted to the room of 
sacred memories. There she took her daily naps undis- 


170 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


turbed by noise, and not a fly or mosquito dared approach 
the little sleeper. 

My Mary I he spoke it often, and lingered loving- 
ly over the sound. My Mary ! how he loved to 
speak it I It became a household, word. Winnie and 
Wallace liked the change ; said it looked better spelled on 
paper — ** Mary F. Lentell.^^ 

“ Write a Mary to my name, too,’’ said Elida ; “ then 
you will has two ’ittle sweet springs,” alluding to what 
she had called the May-flowers. I spects God isn’t 
very dood ” slie said, sadly, one day. 

** What makes you think so ? ” said Hester. 

“ ’Cause he died poor grandpa’s mother, and let the 
naughty man plant her in the ground. I saw um ; it is 
all dark down there. Will she come up when it is warm, 
auntie ? ” 

Hester explained the solemn mystery as well as she 
could, and told her the story of the infant Jesus, which 
called forth many loving expressions from the afiection- 
ate, impulsive child. 

But I’s happy ’nuff now, auntie. You tell God, so 
he won’t die me, and send me up to heaven. I’s your 
’ittle Sunshine ; so you couldn’t spare me a bit — could 
you, auntie ? ” caressing her. 

“ I love to keep you, darling,” said Hester, kissing 
the soft, fair cheek. 

Wallace took his departure for uncle Prank’s in high 
glee. 

It will be splendid to drive the cows and ride the 
horse to plough, and rake hay, over to uncle Frank’s — 
won’t it, auntie ? I mean to study hard when I go to 
school, so as to get into the same class with George next 
winter.” 


THE BURIAL. 


in 


I hope you will be a diligent scholar, and a good 
boy, and enjoy yourself,'^ said Hester. “ Perhaps uncle 
Edward will want you to study medicine with him when 
you are old enough. Your uncle Horace, you remember, 
was a doctor. I am pleased with your spending a year 
at uncle Frank’s. Your aunt Emma is a dear, kind 
woman, and will treat you as she does her own children. 
0, Wallace, try to please them all, and do not forget 
that ^ thou, God, seest me.’ ” 


112 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Morgan Lentell, or the Broken Web. — The Accident 

It is only seven or eight miles from Mr. Manlie^s to 
Mrs. Mehitable LentelPs ; just a pleasant ride : let us go. 
She is weaving most heroically, and talking to herself. 
Listen. 

0, hum I I wish I knew how about that ^ herearter ^ 
that the priest preached about last Sunday. When Nabby 
gits me there agin, she’ll know it ; that’s all. It’s proper 
warm to-day; ” wiping the perspiration from the wrinkled 
brow. '' But if that sermon is true, I hain’t seen the 
wust on’t yet. Hum, hum ! I wish I was as innocent 
as I was when I stole that letter from the office, an’ laid 
awake all night to cut an’ contrive how to deceive her. 
’Pears to me the Evil One helped me. 0, well I I’ve 
had the wust eend o’ the bargain. W’at’s the use to 
bother? It’s done,” — bringing her foot down forcibly, 
— ‘ “ and can’t be undone : an’ I’ve suffered for it. I shall 
git along well enough, I guess. I wish the parson — ” 
What are you grumbling about, old woman ? ” mut- 
tered Morgan, as he staggered into the room. ‘‘ Can’t I 
help you weave ? Harmony couldn’t, you know ; ” and 
he plunged his still brawny arm through the slender 
threads, leaving a discouraging hole. 

“ There ! ” he growled, that is what you did to the 
beautiful web of my life ; only worse, a — sight worse. 


MORGAN LENTELL, OR THE BROKEN WEB. HS 


I tell you, Fve seen her to-day ; she sent you this ; rais- 
ing his hand to strike a blow. 0, no,^^ he stammered, 
“that wouldn^t be like her;^’ drawing the hand back; 
“ no, it is I that give you this ; striking her a blow on 
the face. “ That is to pay you for the blows I got when 
a boy. Ah, well I I never meant to strike a woman ; 
turning away. 

“ And she your mother, sighed Mrs. Mehitable. 
“ Morgan, I shall have you taken care on, if you ever 
strike me agin.’^ 

“ Well,^^ said he, turning and looking her full in the 
face, “isn’t that what you pledged yourself to do, if I 
would stop the lawsuit ? Ha, ha I mother I A precious 
mother you proved yourself. Didn’t you send me to 
jail ? and murder the best and loveliest woman I ever 
saw ? My God I my God ! Drake and you, and Nab 
and the devil, conspired against me,” he said, in a frenzy 
of passion. “ The hottest place in — is too good for any 
of you ; or me either,” he groaned, shrinking away to 
his room. 

Such scenes as this were not uncommon in the great 
house on the hill. And yet, Morgan, true to former 
habits, still performed a great deal of labor. But at 
times a sort of insanity took possession of him ; then 
he was a perfect terror to them all. lie would not ven- 
ture to the small house near the swamp, feeling sure it 
was haunted. They are reaping as they have sown. 
But we will leave them for the present, and call at uncle 
Frank Lovering’s. Things have changed, you will see, 
since Christmas. 

Are you surprised to find Patty Stearns there yet ? I 
will tell you how it happened. She found it impossible 


174 HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 

to get any one near by to take her. Some made one 
excuse, some another. Some told her plainly why they 
would not take her ; and finally Hester Strong, while there 
spending the day, told her where her life had been a fail- 
ure, and why she was not loved. She was quite indig- 
nant at first. 

I think,^' said Hester, that your circumstances early 
in life had something to do with making you sad ; I may 
say, soured your disposition. And then, as you grew 
older, and your sick, irritable parents died, and you com- 
menced teaching school, you made the mistake of think- 
ing true dignity was a reserved, distant stateliness ; re- 
ligion a sanctimonious austerity ; that your office entitled 
you to great respect and consideration. You neglected 
to cultivate the affections, and strive, by kindness and 
conciliation, to win the esteem and confidence of those 
you met, but laid claim to that which cannot be bought 
or sold, except by paying in the same coin. ' Love begets 
love,^ it is said. Love is the all-conquering power, which 
shall finally triumph over sin. God is love. You have 
seemed to forget that, and dwell upon his justice and 
severity, losing sight of his loving-kindness and tender 
mercy. Others make the fatal mistake of trusting to his 
merciful attributes, leaving justice and judgment out of 
the question.’^ 

Hester said all this, and very much more, in a kind, 
sympathizing way, which was irresistible. A tear glis- 
tened in Miss Stearns’ eye, as she replied, — 

‘‘ Perhaps you are right. Miss Strong. I have thought 
a sight about what you said, last Christmas, of the charac- 
ter and life of Christ. I think I have failed there. I 
remember my parents always looked on the dark side of 


THE ACCIDENT. 


176 


iverything ; and they had an uncommon sight of trouble. 
I thought iverything they said or did was right. But we 
are poor creatures, all of us ; they might have been 
wrong in that. I niver remember seeing them laugh in 
my life. They said there was no mention of Christas iver 
laughing ; he wept often, fasted and prayed in the mid- 
night air, and on the mountains. 

“ Yes,’^ said Hester, I know that is true. But it 
was not for himself he wept, fasted, and prayed. The 
burden of our guilt was laid upon him ; by his stripes we 
are healed. His was not a selfish sorrow ; and the wise 
man says, ‘ There is a time to laugh ^ — a time for every, 
thing. I think we dishonor God by looking on the dark 
side altogether. AYe must accept our blessings thank- 
fully, and make the best of our misfortunes and trials ; 
for if we are the children of God, all things shall work 
together for our good.^^ 

This plain, Christian talk had a decided effect upon 
Miss Patty, and prepared her, in a measure, for a new 
affliction. George was appalled, one day soon after this, 
to hear his mother call to his father, — 

0, dear I what shall we do ? Miss Stearns has fallen, 
and broken her other limb, I fear. She canft stir.” 
Several men came and assisted in getting her up, for she 
was very large and heavy. Br. Edward Lovering was 
soon there, and, much to the consternation of the family, 
decided that her hip was broken just below the joint. 
He remarked to Mrs. Lovering, as he left, — 

“ I think the old lady wonft hold out long. She is in- 
jured internally, and is so fleshy and aged, it will go 
hard with her.” 

Poor thing,” said Emma Lovering, I am glad she 


116 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK, 


is here. We will try to be patient with her. She had a 
hard time when young. I am told she was a faithful 
daughter.^^ 

George and Fanny thought of their rash wishes, and 
felt sorry. 

“We don’t know what we shall be, when we are 
eighty,” said Fanny, “ with a lame leg and nobody to 
love us. Let’s be real kind to her now. She may live 
a long time, but she can’t ever sit up again, uncle Ed- 
ward says.” 

“ Well,” said George, “ I’ll go for the men to help 
move her ; it will be awful to lie there so, and go to the 
^poticary shot,’ as Willie calls it, for medicine.” 

“0, don’t say anything funny now,” said Fanny; 
“ only think what mother has got to go through, and 
father too.” 

“ 0, I know it,” said George ; “lam doing what father 
calls ' taking things by the smooth handle.’ ” 

And so Miss Patty has been lying on that bed of pain 
three months. She has changed in every respect ; com- 
paratively speaking, she is patient and grateful. She is 
apparently failing. Uncle Frank thinks she must have 
been a Christian ; that the pure gold was there, only 
crusted over by mistaken notions. 

“ I am really afraid I shall wear you all out,” she says 
frequently, “I am so heavy to lift, and need so much 
done. Move me just a mite — won’t you? I suffer so. 
Thank you ; you are all kind. The Lord will reward you. 
There, I feel easier ; I ought to be patient ; our blessed 
Master suffered more than mortal agony, and all for us. 
0, I’ve been a poor servant, unfaithful and unworthy. If 
I could live my life over, I would look more on the cheer- 
ful side of things.” 


THE ACCIDENT, 


in 


And now the whole family, Wallace included, love to 
wait on her, notwithstanding her faults, for she is trying 
to imitate the Master. On our way back to the village, 
we will step into grandpa Lovering’s. Kumor whispers 
that matrimony will be committed there soon. He tried 
to persuade Martha Manlie to become the mistress of his 
house, but she firmly, though gently, declined. 

Charles Lovering was surprised when his father told 
him, one day, many circumstances which had happened 
in the family. 

“ I don’t want to prejudice you against your wife,” 
said Mr. Lovering ; she is a good wife and mother to 
you and your children, an excellent housekeeper, a good 
nurse, &c. ; but she worried your mother constantly by 
suggesting that you did more than your share of the 
work, that we used the most meat, &c. She objected to 
my having the children and grandchildren at home so 
often, said hard things about my doing so much for Har- 
mony, and didn’t want the children here after their mother 
died. I didn’t know much about it when mother was 
here to bear it, though I used to overhear some things. 
She seems worried all the time, for fear I shall defraud 
or overreach you. But since I have had a housekeeper, 
I have known all. Now, don’t get angry, my son, but 
hear me out. You know Judith don’t want me in her 
family ; she has told you so often. What am I to do ? I 
can’t get any one to stay while things remain as they 
are. I don’t want to distress you, or injure you in any 
way ; but there must be a change.” And the son knew 
his father was in earnest, when he saw the good right 
hand clinched firmly in the thin gray locks. 

12 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


11B 


“ Well, what do you propose to do, father ? he in- 
quired. 

‘‘ Do ? Why, what I always wanted to do, but you 
thought it unnecessary labor — divide the produce, pota- 
toes, apples, pork, butter, all — everything. I shall close 
the doors between the two tenements. Understand me, 
my son ; my heart is all right, my affection for your family 
the same ; but I want to remove all reason for complaint. 
I want peace. Judith will see her mistake some time. I 
shan^t hold any ill will towards her, and your children 
are as my children. But I must keep a home for the rest 
of them.^^ 

“I want you to, father. I don^t think Judith means 
half what she seems to.^^ 

“ Perhaps not,^^ said grandpa. “ I shall build a new 
wood shed at my end of the house. It will be all ready 
for some one of your children when I am gone. I am 
conscious that no two families ought to be mixed up ; 
they will be happier by themselves. 

I hope you will stay a long, long time, to use the 
house, father, said Charles, fervently. Judith is over- 
anxious about me and the children. 

That accounts for her mistake,^^ said grandpa ; we 
all have to live and learn. I am glad you have so good 
a wife, and think, when we get fixed right, and begin all 
new, we shall get along nicely. And they did. The 
nature of the woman was not changed, only her surround- 
ings were different. 


MRS. GILES’ SICKNESS. 


179 


CHAPTER XX. 

Mrs. Giles^ Sickness. — Miss Ann Thropee, or Sympa- 
thy WASTED. 

Hester is at Mr. Trueman^s, spending a few days 
with her adopted children. A stranger would suppose 
her to be a real mother of about forty-five. She is in 
earnest conversation with a member of the family not 
yet introduced to the reader — a modest, intelligent youth 
of about sixteen, the eldest son by the first wife, and 
own brother to Lucy. Reader, you are surprised to learn 
that Mrs. Trueman is a step-mother. Listen, and you will 
see that I am correct. 

Do you think you shall study theology? said 
Hester. 

“ Yes,^^ was the earnest reply, “I desire to, if father 
and mother think it best. I know that it is a high and 
holy calling, and feel unworthy ; but the promise is, 
* Those that seek me early shall find me ; ' and if God is 
with me, I can do all things — even conquer my easily 
besetting sins, and preach the glorious gospel accept- 
ably.'^ 

I am sure," said Hester, your mother will not op- 
pose you in that,' for she has expressed the wish to me 
that it might be so ; and your own mother would have 
desired it above all things. You hardly remember her, 
\ suppose." 


180 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“Yes, I remembeT her as a pleasant, beautiful dream. 
I felt angry with God because they told me he had taken 
her, until you came, and then you talked to me about 
God and heaven, and how mother was sitting beside the 
clear, bright fountain of life, listening to the music, and 
eating the delicious fruit from the tree in the midst of 
the garden, until I felt sorry for my anger, and you asked 
God to forgive me.^^ 

“ I remember it,^’ said Hester ; “ my heart ached for 
you. I did not suppose it would be possible for any one 
to fill that mother’s place so faithfully as this dear mother 
has. You have been truly blessed.” 

“ I know it; the boys at school think she is my own 
mother : I know no difierence. Did you ever know that 
I date my conversion from that terrible sickness she had 
after my little brothers died ? My dear friend, I owe 
you a lasting debt of gratitude for saving my mother’s 
life, and calling my childish attention to serious things. 
I had thought religion a gloomy subject, fit only for the 
sick and aged ; but your cheerfulness removed that pre- 
judice, and made me desire to be a Christian.” 

“ Howard,” said Mrs. Trueman, opening the door, 
“ I wish you would take the carriage and your sisters, 
and drive over to Mr. Giles’, and bring little Winnie over 
to spend the day. She is such a sweet child, such a 
trusting Christian, and we all love her so much, that I 
want you to see her. Father says you can have the 
horse two hours ; so give them all a drive, and get back 
by dinner time.” 

“ Yes, mother,” said the boy, rising and bowing very 
graciously, “ I am happy to be your obedient servant in 
such a mission.” 


MBS. GILES’ SICKNESS. 


181 


Well, do not forget to inquire for Mrs. Giles, if 
Winnie cannot come. I fear the dear child is confining 
herself too much to her aunt. She hasnH been to school 
a day yet.^^ 

No,^’ said Hester ; I was afraid it would be so. 
I wish you would send for her to spend the night.’^ 

“ By all means, was the reply. ** Children, try to 
persuade her to come prepared.^’ 

They found Winnie shut up in the nursery, singing 
baby to sleep. 

Let^s listen a moment,’^ said Lucy ; “ isn^t it sweet ? 
Why, it is a hymn ! I thought it must be some new 
song.’^ 

Yes, it is a hymn,^’ said Howard — one of the 
sweetest and best : I know it. 

‘ Praise ye the Lord I My heart shall join 
In work so pleasant, so divine ; 

My days of praise shall ne’er be past 
While life, and thought, and being last.* 

If Winnie can praise God, surely we, who are older 
and so much more highly favored, ought to,^^ he said. 
By this time a cold, hard, stern-looking face appeared at 
the door. 

Is Mrs. Giles at home ? said Howard. 

Yes/' was the blunt reply, and like to be for the 
present." 

Is she very sick ? " said Lucy. 

** Yes, I s'pose so ; she thinks she is, an' the doctor 
says so. He’s her brother, you see." 

“1 am sorry she is sick," said Susie ; we wanted 
Winnie to go to our house to spend the day and 


182 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


night. Aunt Hester, and the baby, and Elida are there, 
and we want her ever so much.^^ 

‘‘You can^t have her, I s^pose ; Vve got my hands 
full, doin’ the work, without lookin’ arter young ones.” 
Winnie sang on, unconscious of the great pleasure 
which was being denied her. 

“ Can’t I see her ? ” said Lucy. 

“ S’pose so ; go into that room over there, if ye’ve a 
mind to. Who be ye, at any rate ? ” said she, looking at 
the carriage. 

“We are Mr. Trueman’s children,” said Howard, as 
the girls stepped into the nursery. 

“ 0, I know ; you’re a stuck-up family. Yer father’s 
wiser’n Holy Writ ; that says, ‘ Take a little wine for 
yer stomach’s sake ; ’ he thinks it’s wrong to use it, sick 
or well, rain or shine. I’d like to have ’im driv to work, 
out in the ’ot sun, hayin’ or suthin’. Tell ’im so. Better 
men ’an he is use it, an’ are likely to, for all ’im. You’re 
the fust wife’s boy, I s’pose. Wal, I pity ye, or any 
other young one that’s got a step-mother, or father either ; 
that’s a fact.” 

“ You needn’t pity me,” said Howard ; “ nobody ever 
had a better mother than ours. I never should think 
of her being a step-mother if people were not so fond of 
telling me of it.” 

“ That shows yer depravity,” was the insulting reply. 
“Ye think it is smart, do ye, to forgit the mother that 
bore ye ? Ye’ll see the day that ye’ll feel yer loss ; an’ 
ye orter.” 

“ I won’t detain you,” said Howard. “ If you please, 
I will sit on the piazza until my sisters return.” 

“ One on um ain’t yer sister ; she’s yer half-sister ; 
better call things by their name.” 


MISS ANN THROPEE. 


183 


Howard walked away, instead of sitting down, won- 
dering who their new acquaintance was, and how she 
could spend time to say such disagreeable things, if her 
hands were so full. It occurred to him that Winnie 
might, perhaps, take her little charge, and ride a while 
with them. He walked up to the nursery door, and 
tapped lightly. Susie opened it. 

“ Ask the little girl,^^ he was about to say ; but as his 
eye fell on Winnie, her occupation, position, and the 
expression of her face caused him to recall the words. 

She doesnH look like a child, he thought ; what a 
sweet face I Walter was right when he called her ‘ lit- 
tle lady.^ Lucy introduced her brother with evident 
satisfaction. 

'' I thought, he said, looking at his sister, that per- 
haps Miss Lentell could take her little charge and ride 
with us for an hour.’^ Winnie blushed ; she had never 
been called Miss^^ Lentell before. 

“ Call me ‘ Winnie,’ please,” she stammered ; ** I 
want Lucy’s and Susie’s brother to call me * Win- 
nie.’ ” 

“ That I will do,” said Howard, laughing ; we ought 
to be well acquainted, I hear so much of you at home, 
and my letters have been so full of you of late.” 

I feel acquainted,” said Winnie — don’t I ? ” look- 
ing at the girls. They speak of you so often, I knew 
just how you looked.” 

Can’t you go ? ” said Lucy. I can take Unie in 
my lap.” 

I will ask auntie,” said Winnie. She came back, in 
a few moments, with baby’s wrappings and a beaming face. 

She says I can go, and she thanks you very much 


184 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


for calling for me. She wants me to go home with 
you.^^ 

0, I am so glad I said Susie ; won^t we have a 
nice time ? 

“ But I can’t go,” said Winnie, cheerfully ; auntie is 
so sick I couldn’t leave her for anything. She can’t sit up 
a moment. I wish I could ; I would like to. I want to 
see all the folks. But if I could only see aunt Hester 
just a moment,” she said, looking timidly at Howard. 

You can,” said he ; we can drive there and back 
twice in an hour. Yes, you shall go and stay half an 
hour. But who was that woman that let us in,? I 
should think you would want to go somewhere, and stay 
there, if she treats you as she did us.” 

“ 0, that was uncle Giles’ half-sister, Miss Ann 
Thropee.” 

‘‘ Miss Ann Thropee,” said Howard ; ** it sounds 
familiar ; but I can’t think I ever knew any one by that 
name. How can you live with her ? Does your aunt 
like her ? ” 

^*0, we just submit to it I ” said Winnie. I want 
to see auntie Hester about some things. I am ready.” 
Baby Unie was delighted with the ride. 

'' Let us take the whole care of her,” said Lucy, “ and 
you sit on the front seat with Howard ; it will rest you.” 
Winnie had a keen relish for the beautiful in nature. 
She was drinking in fresh draughts of happiness with 
every breath. 

'' The world never looked so pretty to me as it does 
this summer,” she said. I seem to see God in every- 
thing. I am not afraid of him now, Susie. You remem- 
ber I used to be.” 


MISS ANN THROPEE. 


185 


** Why are you not afraid of him ? inquired Howard. 

‘‘ 0, because I love him. He is my Father and my 
Friend now. Why, have we got here so soon ? 

“ Yes, and now you run in,^^ said Lucy. '' I will keep 
baby out here. Don^t let them eat you up, Winnie.^’ 

‘‘0, no danger I said Winnie, as she went hastily in, 
and spent several precious moments answering questions 
as to why the rest did not come in, and why she herself 
could not stay longer. At the earliest moment when it 
would be proper to do so, Winnie said, “ I want to see 
you alone, auntie, a little while. 

‘‘Mrs. Trueman will excuse us,^^ said Hester, “and 
we will step into the parlor. 

“ Yes,^^ said Mrs. Trueman, “ I am sorry we cannot 
keep you, Winnie, but glad to see you give up so cheer- 
fully, what I think would be a great pleasure to you, for 
the comfort of your aunt.^^ 

“ She calls me her comfort,^^ said Winnie ; “ and that 
makes me happy, because mother used to call me so.^^ 

Winnie hesitated when they were alone. 

“ What is it, dear ? said Hester ; “ speak right out ; 
you know time is passing.’^ 

“ I know it,^^ said Winnie ; “ that is the reason I can’t 
think what to say.” 

“ Who is taking care of your aunt ? ” said Hester. 

“ Miss Ann,” said Winnie, “ that is one thing I wanted 
to tell you. Auntie will die if somebody don’t do some- 
thing.” 

“ Do tell me, Winnie, if she is there,” said Hester, 
thoughtfully. “ Well, I am sorry. Is your uncle kind 
to auntie, now she is sick ? ” 

“ I don’t call him so. He don’t go near her, and Miss 


186 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Ann donH, either, only when she wants to say something 
ugly. I make her bed when Unie is asleep, comb her 
hair, and carry her a piece of bread and cup of tea, when 
there are any. Auntie cries often, and says nobody cares 
for her but me, now. She wanted uncle Giles to send 
for you, just for one day ; but he wouldn't. 

What did he say ? 

‘‘ Why, he said he wouldnH have you there with your 
pauper young ones. His sisters were enough sight better 
than you. But, auntie, you must come right off. I am 
afraid to stay there. 

‘‘ Afraid of whom, Winnie ? Afraid of what, child ? 

“ Well,^^ said Winnie, “ I don^t really know. I feel so, 
that is all. Uncle Mason is real good to me now ; buys 
me candy and nuts.^^ 

Hester was silent for a moment, and then said, ^^*1 
suppose you must go now, dear ; take this note to 
auntie.^^ 

‘‘ I thank you for taking me here,’^ said Winnie. “ I 
feel rested ; now I shall be able to cheer auntie ; and I 
have got a note for her from aunt Hester : that will 
make her feel better. 

She went immediately to her aunt’s room, gave her 
Hester’s note, and told her about her ride. Let us peep 
over her shoulder. 

'' Darling,” wrote Hester, “ cheer up ; it is always 
darkest just before day. I shall see your father before I 
sleep, or write to him. You must go home. Be quiet. 
We will manage it all. Aunt Hester.” 

The sick one smiled languidly, and. hid the letter in her 
bosom. 

‘‘ Winnie, how came you to think of going to Hester ? ” 


MISS ANN THROPEE. 


187 


she said. You could not have done better. You are, 
indeed, my comforter, my good angel.^^ 

0, no, not that,^’ said Winnie ; “ angels are holy ; I 
am sinful.’^ 

“ Well,^^ said Elevia, “ couldn^t you leave baby with 
me, and make me a cup of tea ? I feel like eating now ; 
things don’t look so dark to me.” 

I guess so,” said Winnie. Couldn’t I boil you an 
egg? Grandma Manlie almost lived on them. I know 
how ; let them boil three minutes and a half. It will 
make you strong. And shan’t I toast you a piece of 
bread on a fork ? Aunt Hester says that is the best way,” 
said Winnie, with great animation. 

Why, yes,” said Elevia ; I think I should like to 
have you. I want to get strong.” 

Winnie met with various rebuffs while getting her 
aunt’s tea. 

I would like an egg,” she said to Miss Ann. 

Well, what of it ? What do ye want of an egg ? ” 

I want it for my aunt ; it will strengthen her.” 

“ Strengthen a fiddlestick,” was the ungracious reply. 

Well,” said Winnie, “ shall I take the key and get 
one ? ” 

“No, not for her. She’s as well able to come out and 
eat as I am.” 

“ She isn’t,” said Winnie, her indignation getting the 
better of her discretion. “ I want an egg.” Winnie 
dropped her head, put her middle finger in her mouth a 
moment, and thought. 

“ 0 ! ” said she, and started for the barn. Uncle 
Mason was at work there. She hurried past him to the 
nest on the hay, caught up two eggs, and was returning, 
when he met her in the path, saying, — 


188 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


What^s your hurry, Winnie ? I want to see you. 
Should you like a hat like Susie Trueman^s ? 

No,^^ said Winnie ; ‘‘ it would cost too much. Mine 
will do for me.’’ She tried to pass him. 

Don’t be in such a hurry, puss. I want you to have 
one. You are far the prettier girl. Come, give me a 
kiss ; you know you are our little girl now. Your aunt 
wants me to treat you like a child.” 

Please let me go,” said Winnie, as she slipped past 
him, and ran swiftly to the house. 

I shall have to be cautious,” mused Mr. Giles, as he 
looked after her. “ She is a pretty little thing ; looks as 
her aunt used to. Wasn’t I proud of her ? She was so 
brilliant and spicy, as well as handsome I La ! a man 
don’t know what he’s getting when he marries. She is 
as wilted and faded now as a flower nipped by the frost ; 
moves about like a ghost. I thought she loved me, and 
would keep her place. She will find out who is master. 
Heigh-ho 1 I wish Lev would get well, or — ” 


WINNIE’S THOUGHTFULNESS. 


189 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WiNNiE^s Thoughtfulness. — Sunshine and her Freak. 

Winnie found her aunt quite weary and faint from the 
care of Unie. The desire to eat had ceased. 

I have been gone too long/^ said Winnie. I had 
to go to the barn for eggs, and the water wouldn’t boil ; 
now I’m afraid you can’t eat.” 

“I will try in a moment,” said Elevia. It looks 
nice.” 

I will set it here, and take baby out,” said Winnie. 

Elevia read Hester’s note again, took courage, ate a 
little, and then lay back wearily, closing her eyes. 

“ I shall never, never be happy again in this world,” 
she thought. ‘‘ It cannot be. These bitter memories 
will follow me to the grave. This terrible disappoint- 
ment has cast a gloom upon my spirits which religion, I 
think, cannot wholly dissipate. My God, lead me in the 
way everlasting, so that death may bring the relief I seek 
in vain on earth.” A new thought took possession of 
her. ‘‘ Will he let me keep the baby ? He don’t love 
it ; thinks it more plague than profit. But won’t he take 
it away to tantalize me ? 0, if he should take it. Miss 

Ann or Mrs. Wiley would have it.” She covered her 
face, and wept. There,” said she, I forget what 
Hester wrote.” She read again, “ ‘ Keep quiet. We 
will manage it all.’ Of course Hester will think of 


190 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


that the first thing. I wonder what Mrs. Pay son will 
think of me, and of my coming home. They say she is 
a kind-hearted woman. If mother, my dear, lost mother, 
were there, what a difference it would make ! There, I 
must stop thinking, and try to sleep. 0 for a place to 
rest ! Little Winnie, I wish I could learn to submit 
and trust, as you have,^^ she said, as the thoughtful child 
came in to see if she was sleeping. 

“ 0, you will,^^ said she, “when you are better. Aunt 
Hester says folks can’t be hopeful in some kinds of sick- 
ness. Unie is asleep, and I want to comb your hair, as 
I did mamma’s when she was sick ; it used to get her 
her to sleep in a minute, sometimes.” 

Winnie combed gently for a while, here and there, 
until the invalid slept. Then she crept back to the 
cradle to keep baby sleeping. Thus several days passed. 
Miss Ann fretted, scolded, and mourned in turn. 

Hester had a long, confidential talk with Mrs. True- 
man while the children were absent, which resulted in 
another drive for Howard, in company with aunt Hester 
and Sunshine. 

“0, dear me, hum ! ” said the little thing. “ I hasn’t 
rided a bit on a carriage wis a cloth over it this long 
time ago ” (meaning a covered carriage). “ Don’t you 
’member the sligh, and the bills, and the horse we rided 
on when we went to Kistmas ? 0, funny, funny I Don’t 

you ’member the plums, and old Santa Dicolas, that 
brought the candy ? I some naughty ; I spects he won’t 
gis me any more.” 

Howard laughed, and aunt Hester smiled. 

“ Who used to say ‘ Hum,’ darling ? ” she inquired. 

“ Why, don’t jpn ’member ? ” said the child with 


SUNSHINE AND HER FREAK. 


191 


evident surprise. “ It was my other grandmother, up 
to where I used to live. She weaved and spun, and said 
' Hum.’ ” 

Hester smiled. 

Yes, I remember her ; what was her name ? ” 

I guess I don’t know,” said the child. 

What is your father’s name ? ” said Howard. 

0, his name be Morgan,” said she ; but no amount 
of coaxing could induce her to repeat her grandmother’s 
name. 

Well, what is your name ? ” asked Howard. 

** I’s Mary Elida, I is.” 

Well, haven’t you another name ? ” said Howard. 

“ I dess not, only I’s auntie’s ’ittle Sunshine.” 

Hester was at a loss what to think. It was possible 
the volatile child had forgotten, having heard the name 
so seldom, and perhaps not at all for a year ; so she 
resolved to wait for further developments. She took 
Mrs. Pay son aside, and gave her a fair, condensed state- 
ment of facts concerning Mason Giles’ character, of 
Elevia’s state of health, and who was housekeeper. 

“ Don’t tell me any more,” said Mrs. Payson ; I 
know that woman. She hates the very ground she 
walks on. Why don’t Mr. Lovering bring her home im- 
mediately ? I hope I don’t stand in the way. I want 
the children and grandchildren to feel just as much at 
home here as ever. If I am not suited, why, I can leave 
— that’s all. I dislike to see a man neglect his children, 
just because his wife is dead.” 

Well,” said Hester, it hasn’t been so bad long. 
The right time hadn’t come. Elevia wished to try in 
every possible way to please him, and win back the love 
she imagined she had lost.” 


192 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Love I I don^t believe he ever loved a living soul, 
except himself, in his life,’^ said the ardent Mrs. Payson. 
She could submit to injury, ay, insult and wrong herself, 
but had no patience when others were oppressed and 
abused. 

“ Mr. Lovering isnH the man,’^ said Hester, ^^to neg- 
lect one of his children. I call him a pattern father, and 
a pattern man. I wish there were more like him.^' 

"'So do said the widow, enthusiastically ; "I 
know him ; there isn’t a better man. He’s down in the 
field. Just you let me blow this horn, and he’ll be up 
in no time. I’m so indignant at what you’ve told me 
that I can’t wait for him to go after her.” 

" How does Judith get along since things were 
straightened out ? ” inquired Hester. 

" 0, nicely. She takes every convenient opportunity 
to tell me what a fine woman Mrs. Lovering was ; how 
prudent, &c. ; how much they thought of each other, and 
so on ; intimating that I am rather extravagant.” 

Mr. Lovering listened to Hester’s story, Mrs. Payson 
putting in a word now and then, until Hester mentioned 
that Mr. Giles’ half sister. Miss Ann Thropee, was house- 
keeper, and Winnie nurse both for baby and its sick 
mother. 

" Zounds ! ” said the good man, starting up and 
plunging the strong right hand into the gray locks. 
" If that don’t beat the horned mice and the leather- 
billed chickens I There, I shall make a fool of myself,” 
said he, calming down. " But candidly, I had rather 
have a bear, robbed of her whelps, round, than her ; and 
Mason isn’t much better behind the scenes. Mrs. Pay- 
son, can you make room for her here ? ” 


SUNSHINE AND HER FREAK. 


193 


** Make room for her ? If I can’t/ ^ was the reply, 
‘^it is time for me to leave — that’s all.” 

Well, Hester,” said he, the thing must be done, 
but not hastily or shabbily ; it will take some time to 
manage it. The poor child may die first. Can’t you go 
over and spend the day to-morrow ? Carry her some 
oranges, and what she needs, and put some of your 
hopefulness into her, and relieve Winnie, while I call a 
council of war, and see what can be done.” 

‘'Yes,” said Hester, “ I’ll do it. I’ll leave Mary 
Fostina with Martha and grandpa. Did you know we 
had changed her name ? ” 

“No,” was the reply ; “ but I am glad of it. I never 
liked the name. But what will you do with Elida ? 
Won’t you stay with grandpa ? ” said he. 

“ No, dess not,” was the reply. “ I spects auntie 
wants me all along.” 

“ I will leave her at Mr. Trueman’s,” said Hester. 

On their way back, Hester spoke purposely of Mrs. 
Lentell, of Morgan Lentell. 

“ And this is my little Elida Lentell,” she said, speak- 
ing to Howard. 

“ 0, is that your name ? ” said he, looking at the child. 

“No, dess not,” was the reply. “ I’s ’ittle Sunshine 
Strong, I is. Auntie’s ’ittle girl. Santa Dicolas, he 
brought me a pony and a dolly. When I come again 
I’ll show it to you.” 

“But what is your grandmother’s name — -the one 
that weaves ? ” 

“ I dess it is Hum,” said the child, again changing 
the subject. 

“No,” said Hester, “ that isn’t it. Now tell me what 

13 


194 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


it is, dear, or I can^t allow you to be my Sunshine, or my 
darling ; and perhaps I shall have to send you to live 
with Mrs. Lentell.^’ 

Hers name isn’t like mine, I spects ; hers is a bad, 
naughty name — isn’t it ? ” 

^^0, well, if little Elida doesn’t love auntie, I must 
send her back to grandma Lentell’s to live,” said Hester. 

0, I don’t want to go to grandmother Lentell’s,” 
she said, flinging her arms lovingly around Hester. ** I 
can say it — Miss Kitty bill Hum Lentell. There, auntie, 
isn’t I your ’ittle Sunshine now ? I spects I is.” 

Hester was silent. 

“Auntie, isn’t I your darling?” pleaded the child. 
“ I is dood, I is,” tears starting into her eyes. 

“ Yes,” said Hester, “ you shall be my darling Sum 
shine if you will tell auntie why you were unwilling to 
speak the name ^ Lentell ’ when I hear your prayers to- 
night. But you have found several new words lately — 
^ dess ’ and ‘ spect ’ : where did you learn them ? ” 

“ 0, my Walter say so,” said the child. 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


195 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Hester’s Visit to Mrs. Giles. — Little Johnnie’s Death. 

— Removal op Mrs. Giles to her Father’s House. 

Hester took an early start next morning. Martha and 
grandpa were delighted to receive their Mary again. 

Father is very uneasy without her,” said Martha. 

I shan’t consent to her going away again. The little 
precious birdie girl I You see I am learning to talk 
^babified.’ I used to think it was silly.” Baby seemed 
pleased to get home. She toddled up to grandpa’s door, 
and pounded with her tiny fist, saying, “ Ope-e-do — 
ope-e~do.” 

Grandpa started with joyful alacrity. 

Birdie bird,” he murmured, '' did you fiy to grandpa 
— did you ? Well, well, truly glad am I.” 

‘‘ Su, su ! ” said baby, holding up her dress, and 
pointing at the red slippers which Susie Trueman had 
given her. Hester and Martha looked on, and laughed. 

‘‘I am glad,” said Martha, ‘‘that father’s sight 
and hearing are so much better — he enjoys seeing and 
hearing baby so well ! ” 

“ 0, pretty, pretty ! ” said grandpa. “ Come in, lit- 
tle Mary — my Mary, come and sit on grandpa’s knee, 
and tell him where away ye went, little Mary.” 

“’Ide — e — ’ide,” said the child — ’ide — ’ide away,” 
as she pointed at the cradle, and smiled one of those 


196 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


wondrous smiles. She smoothed the thin white locks, 
stroked the wrinkled cheek, and manifested her joy and 
affection in every possible way. 

‘‘ That is truly an interesting sight, said Hester. 
‘‘0, if we could get their pictures just as they sit now ! 
— the two extremes of life meeting and blending in such 
trusting love : it is beautiful I Why, Martha, these 
children are a blessing to us all.’^ 

'' Indeed they are,^’ was the reply. “ When is Mr. 
Trueman going to call for you ? 

“ 0, as soon as he has seen to the opening of the 
store ! He is a noble, generous man I ’’ 

“ Yes,’’ said Martha; “ but I think he is a little too 
fast about temperance. Because some people abuse a 
good thing, it does not prove it to be bad, you know. 
Now father couldn’t get along without his eleven-o’clock 
dram, I am sure.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Hester; habit has become 
second nature. But I don’t think Adam took a dram 
daily : I never have. I was born a teetotaler. I am 
just as well off — better, I think. The apostle says, ' If 
meat cause my brother to offend, I will eat no meat 
while the world standeth.’ I say Amen to that, and 
apply it to all kinds of liquors.” 

“ Don’t you think it is good for a medicine ? ” said 
Martha. 

It may hfave been,” said Hester, when it was pure 
and unadulterated ; so is meat good ; but if it cause 
my brother to offend, it must be sacrificed : that is all. 
0, Martha, it pains me to see so much stubborn resist- 
ance, I call it, to the cause of temperance and humanity, 
among good, well-meaning people. It is owing to igno- 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


m 


ranee of the tremendous evils of drinking. I have been 
situated so that I could see the sin, misery, poverty, and 
cruelty it brings in its train. You have not seen much 
of it. I tell you it is the curse of the age. Think of 
Morgan, of Mrs. Gray, and a host of others. 0, there 
he comes ; success to the prohibitory law. If I were a 
man Fd fight to extinguish the evil by burning every 
still-house in the land. 0, haven’t you a loaf of your 
light, sweet bread, that I can take to Elevia ? ” 

Yes, indeed, and a glass of jelly, too. Isn’t there 
something else I can send her ? ” 

No, I can’t think of anything. Mr. Trueman has 
some oranges for her. But suppose I should want to 
stay all night ? ” 

“ You could, and longer, if needed; we can get along 
nicely. Mary isn’t a bit of trouble.” 

Good by ; send for me, if you need me.” 

I have been having a terrible dressing dovmj^ said 
Mr. Trueman, as they rode along. “ Mr. Wiley thinks I 
am ‘ meaner than dirt,’ to use his expression.” 

No bones broken, I hope,” said Hester, smiling. 

Dirt isn’t mean, unless it comes in contact with some- 
thing mean. What is the matter with him ? Can’t he 
get rum enough at Stillman’s ? ” 

'‘Yes, but he don’t want to go there I He says it is 
too bad to compel respectable people to go there 
for it.” 

" Let them go without it, then ; there is no compulsion 
about it, I suppose,” said Hester, indignantly. 

" That is what I tried to make him believe ; but he 
thinks it is one of the essentials of life ; said he would 
as soon go without bread as spirits of some kind. He 


198 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


says he will have some for haying, by fair means or foul. 
He wished me anything but success, threatened to in- 
jure my trade all he could, &c. I confess my business 
has diminished since I stopped selling it, and commenced 
agitating this question, and that, too, in a quarter where 
I least expected it. There are not a half dozen real 
temperance men in the village. A great many call them- 
selves so, but they are not. I don^t understand it. 
Why, I thought the Loverings would stand by me.^^ 
^‘Haven’t they ? said Hester. “Well, there is no 
accounting for the inconsistencies of good people. But 
they will come out right ; all such folks need is more 
light. Habit is strong. There has never been a drunk- 
ard in the family until Harmony^s husband. They don't 
realize what a common curse it is. But you won't lose 
anything, Mr. Trueman, in the long run ; there must be 
pioneers in every good cause. God is on your side. 
Soon every house will have its drunkard, every home 
its broken hearts ; for drunkenness is increasing fear- 
fully. Then the evils of drinking will be appreciated.^’ 

“ When shall I come for you ? ” Mr. Trueman in- 
quired, as he left her at the door. 

“ 0, I won't trouble you to do that I " was the reply. 
“ Mr. Giles will be perfectly willing to carry me home, 
I think." Winnie was feeling discouraged and sad 
when Hester opened the door and stepped in. 

“ Why, aunt Hester I Where did you come from ? I 
do believe God sent you. Auntie is worse, and baby is 
sick. 0, dear ! I haven't slept all night." 

“ Of course he did," said Hester, cheerfully. “Now 
you shall rest a little. I will go in and see Elevia, and 
then you must go to bed." When Hester opened the 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


199 


door, Elevia reached out her arms, much as little Unie 
was in the habit of doing, to her, and began to cry. She 
could not speak. 

There,^^ said Hester, cheerfully, ^‘you may cry just 
five minutes by the clock, and then wipe up, for I have 
a bundle of news for you as big as Bunyan^s pack.^^ 
Hester went on talking, quietly stroking Elevia^s hair, 
and before the five minutes expired she was listening 
attentively, only sobbing now and then. 

I am so thankful you have come,^^ she said ; '^poor 
baby is sick, and^ Winnie is worn out. They donH help 
the child a mite.^^ 

“We can always find something to be thankful for if 
we look sharp, said Hester. “ Here is cause number 
two,^^ taking out the oranges ; “ number three,^^ holding 
up the jelly ; “ number four,^^ displaying the bread. 

“ That looks like aunt Martha,’^ said Elevia, smiling. 
“ Give the largest orange to Winnie, right off ; and can’t 
you bring the cradle in here, and let the child go to 
bed ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Hester ; “lam glad your trouble 
doesn’t make you selfish.” 

“ I am selfish enough,” she sighed, “ and wicked 
as need be ; but Winnie is so self-sacrificing ! She never 
thinks of self.” Hester cut up one of the best-looking 
oranges, quietly gave it to Elevia, and took one to Win- 
nie, who was suffering sadly for sleep. 

“ There, Winnie, now go to bed, darling, and sleep ; 
that is a good girl.” 

“ Kiss me, auntie,” said Winnie ; “ I feel more like my 
other self to-day, I miss mother so. Do Christians ever 
feel sad, auntie ? ” 


200 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“0, yes, dear ; you know we are only pilgrims and 
strangers here. The spirit may be willing when the flesh 
is weak. You are very tired ; but remember this, dear — 
God is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever ; and 
Jesus is always watching over his disciples, in sunshine 
and in shade. Believe this, Winnie, and you will have 
a calm, restful feeling even when under a cloud. 

Hester told Elevia of her visit to her father^s, and its 
results. 

** Mrs. Payson is all eagerness to get you away. You 
will have to get used to her bustling ways. She is good 
and kind, but not so quiet as I should like.^' 

Then she will not think me a burden ? 

No, not in the least. I am more afraid she will 
kill you with kindness than any other way.^’ 

“0, if mother were there,^^ whispered Elevia, **this 
would not be such a terrible cross. I long to go, but I 
tremble when I think what the result may be. Will he 
see his fault and do better ? or will he hate me worse 
than ever ? These questions have caused me many 
sleepless nights. If I should never return here, will he 
take my baby from me ? He neglects it sadly now I am 
sick ; and Miss Ann hates young ones, she says.’^ 

“ I know it is a trying case,’^ said Hester, “ and no 
one can advise you. Ask counsel of God. He will help 
you decide. If you think you can endure the yoke, be a 
benefit to your husband, and bring up your child right, 
here you ought to stay. But if your health and spirits 
utterly fail, as they now have, then you can do no good 
by staying, and self-preservation demands that you go. 
But let us leave this subject ; wait and see what your 
father and brothers think. Mr. Gray is going to be mar- 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


201 


ried/^ said Hester; '' there is quite a romance about it. 
He marries a lady he was partial to when young, but 
was too late ; she was engaged to a man at the West. 
She married, and went out there. They had not heard 
from each other since until last April, when they met in 
the stage ; she returning a rich widow, with one son, to 
her friends in this region ; he going to the same town to 
offer his hand to a maiden lady, a distant connection. 
They recognized each other, and a spark of the old 
flame seemed to have lingered in one corner of Mr. 
Gray^s heart. He told the sad story of his life, and then 
listened to hers, which had been bright until the death 
of her husband. And then and there, in the stage, amid 
the whirl and rattle, he offered his hand a second time, 
and was accepted. ‘ When you offered yourself before,^ 
said the widow, ‘ you were well off, I was poor. Things 
have been reversed. You are poor, you say ; but I have 
enough for comfort.^ 

‘‘ That was a strange coincidence — wasn’t it ? said 
Elevia, forgetting her trouble. ‘‘ How are they getting 
along ? Has Lottie kept house all this time ? ” 

“ No,” said Hester ; the oldest girl, who worked in a 
factory in the city, learned a dress-maker’s trade, and 
came home to keep house, so that Lottie could go to 
school ; and Lucy Trueman is giving her lessons in 
music. Lottie has a splendid voice. Hattie isn’t more 
than eighteen ; has been in the factory a long time. 
Poor child ! she has had a hard time ; but her prospects 
brighten. 1 believe they buried two little ones between 
her and Lottie.” 

‘'Jack Stillman is at the Reform School, I suppose,” 
said Elevia. “ I pity his mother. How does she ap- 
pear ? As proud as ever ? ” 


202 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


No ; she is a changed woman. She has not professed 
religion, but we all think she is a Christian. She has 
done nobly in Mr. Gray^s case ; bought back, by personal 
sacrifice, nearly all the furniture that poor, deluded Helen 
mortgaged, and by kindness quite won the hearts of the 
whole family. The girls go to her as they would to 
a mother. She has joined our new Temperance Society, 
and is very active, doing all she can to induce her hus- 
band to stop selling liquor. But she will never succeed 
— never; at least, I think so. He isn’t far from a 
drunkard now.” 

I should think intemperance was on the increase,” 
said Elevia ; ‘‘we didn’t use to hear much said about it. 
Mr. Giles and Mr. Wiley lay it all to the temperance 
folks. They think it is impossible to get along without 
it in haying time, raisings, &c.” 

“ It is on the increase,” said Hester ; “ evil is self- 
propagating, as well as good, only more so. Let them 
lay it to the temperance folks, if they will. They know 
better, as well as I do. It is the increase of intemperance 
that has stirred up thinking temperance people to do 
something. Our young men are falling victims to it, 
their families to them. — What a long nap Unie is hav- 
ing I and you must rest now.” 

“ She didn’t sleep much last night,” said Elevia ; 
“ you always carry rest wherever you go.” 

“Don’t flatter me,” said Hester, smiling; “give all 
the praise to God. I want you to try Martha’s bread 
when you have rested a little. I suppose I must beard 
the lion, and make you a cup of tea.” 

“She won’t do anything but growl,” said Elevia; 
“ she tries to make herself appear worse than she really 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


203 


IS. It is unpleasant to have her here. She and Mason 
don’t agree about anything. She seems to be afraid 
that she shall do a kind act. I verily believe she would 
be as much ashamed to speak a kind word, or do a lov- 
ing deed, as you would not to.” 

'‘Quite likely,” said Hester; "I have seen such 
folks.” 

" Good morning. Miss Thropee.” 

“ Mornin’,” was the gruff reply. 

" How is your health ? ” said Hester. 

" Good ’nuff, I s’pose ; it ought to be in this ’ouse.” 

" There is a good deal to do, I know,” said Hester. 
'' Elevia is all worn out doing the work and being broken 
of her rest with the babe.” 

" Fudge I She didn’t ’ave anybody in bed to wait on.” 

"No,” said Hester ; "it is a good deal of care and 
labor to look after sick persons as they should be. I 
thought you must be all tired out, and so I came over 
to take care of baby and Elevia a day or two, and relieve 
you of that trouble.” 

Miss Ann was cornered. She grumbled over some- 
thing which Hester did not stop to understand. 

" I’ll trouble you to show me where the tea and sugar 
are,” said Hester. " Elevia must take a good deal of 
nourishment.” 

" In there, I s’pose ; find it, an’ ye will. When I lay 
in bed I don’t eat.” 

" Well,” said Hester, " doctor says she has a low 
nervous fever, and that baby must be weaned, and she 
have great care, or she will go in a decline. Where did 
you say the sugar was ? ” 

" I didn’t say,” laughed Miss Ann. " I bad to hunt 
for it, an’ you kin.” 


204 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ 0, well, rii find it ; never mind.’^ 

Hester went to a closet, found a very little in a bowl, 
made her tea, and hurried from the room. 

“ Bread in there somewhere,^’ said Miss Ann. 

I don^t wish any,^^ said Hester. I brought some.^^ 
She did not stop to hear the reply. 

0, yes, ye thought mine warn’t good ^nuff, I s^pose. 
I kin make as good bread as you kin.’’ 

Mr. Giles said, Whew ! ” when he found Hester 
there, but was as polite as ever when they met; “was 
glad she could come,” &c. 

“ She loves good living,” said he. “ Ann, starve her 
out.” 

“ I’ll fix ’er,” was the reply. 

“ I can stand it a day or two,” thought Hester, as she 
saw the starved-looking table. Dr. Edward took Mr. 
Giles aside, told him that his wife was in danger (which 
was really true), and that she must have the best of care, 
or she would die. 

“ She will be sick a long time at best,” said he ; 
“ perhaps you had better call in another physician ; I 
should prefer to have you.” 

“ 0, I don’t wish to do that ; but it seems to me, if 
Elevia would arouse herself, she might get up sooner.” 

“ But, my dear man,” said the doctor, “ that is im- 
possible ; we must get her up. This nervous prostra- 
tion is the worst disease in the world : there is nothing 
to build upon. By the way, sometimes change of scene 
will work wonderp — rouse up the dormant energies, and 
set things right. If they would take her home a few 
weeks, she might rally. Don’t you think they would ? ” 
he inquired. 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


205 


I don’t know, I am sure,” said Mr. Giles. He was 
thinking what a saving it would be — what a fuss it was 
to have a sick wife. 

‘‘ I think father would like to have her come ; she 
would be welcome there. I’ll speak to him, and let you 
know in a day or two. She is growing weaker, and 
will not be able to ride there soon.” 

^‘Well,” said Mr. Giles, I’d like to have you ask 
him. As you say, change may do her good. Ann will 
have to stay, at all events, for the present, and Winnie 
can go to school.” 

0,” said the doctor, indifferently, “ Winnie will 
have to go with her, until Unie gets acquainted with the 
rest of them.” 

‘‘ Yes, I suppose she will have to go,” said Mr. Giles. 

‘‘ Perhaps,” said the doctor, ‘‘ I had better see 
father to-night : time is precious. If she goes, Hes- 
ter must stay and fix her off, and perhaps she could 
take Elevia in her strong arms. I’ll see.” He went in. 

“ Now keep quiet, sister,” he said. “ You mustn’t 
even think. Leave the future in the hands of God ; 
now you have enough to do to get well. Hester, pack her 
trunk ; you know sick folks need a good many things.” 

“ I understand,” was the arch reply. Hester found 
it difScult to keep her patient quiet. 

0, auntie,” she said, death would be preferable 
to life under such circumstances. I should not be afraid 
to die. I believe my sins are forgiven, and yet I hardly 
dare to live. I hope in Christ, but I cannot rejoice. 
What is the reason ? Perhaps I ought to be willing to 
stay with Mason, and bear it all patiently. If I could 
know my duty, I would try to do it.” 


206 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** I remember the dying words of dear Harmony/^ 
said Hester, after receiving her husband^s penitent let- 
ter. ‘ One cannot die just when they please, or live 
either. I have longed to die.’ But then she was will- 
ing that God’s will should be done. She was calmly, 
serenely hpapy, resting like a weary infant in its moth- 
er’s bosom. 0, it was a blessed privilege to be with her I 
She was a perfect illustration of the power of faith. I 
want you, my dear Elevia, to find rest in trusting God. 
Go home, recover your health, and wait. God, in his 
providence, will lead you in the path of duty. ‘ Cast 
your care upon him, for he careth for you.’ I will go 
out for a walk with Unie. Winnie is having a fine 
sleep.” 

I am glad,” said Elevia. Poor child, she has had 
a hard experience here 1 I hope something better will 
turn up for her.” 

I hope so,” was the reply ; “ now you try to sleep, 
dear.” Hester stooped, kissed the pale cheek, held 
Unie down for a kiss, and left her. 

I wonder what makes Hester know just what peo- 
ple want,” thought the invalid, and just what to say 
I was feeling worried with baby’s noise. Hester is a 
living epistle, known and read of all men. I never heard 
the most sceptical doubt her sincerity. Mr. Giles thinks 
she is a Christian, if there is such a thing.” Hester 
reflected upon Elevia’s remarks concerning Winnie’s hard 
experience, and thought sadly of the experience of her 
whole life. 

“ Who has a better right to her than I have ? ” she 
mused. Her dying mother confided her to me ; and 
when Elevia is able to take care of the baby, she shall 
come home, and go to school.” 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


207 


** 0, 0, 01^’ cried Envena Wiley, as she ran towards 
Mr. Giles' — 0, dear I " 

“ What is the matter? " said Hester, going hastily to 
overtake her, and prevent her entering the house in such 
excitement. “ What has happened ? " 

0, 0 I " was all Envena could say, 'mid the wild- 
est kind of weeping. Hester hurried on, and over- 
took her, laid her hand on her shoulder, and said, 
kindly, — 

“ What is the matter, dear ? Don't go in. Elevia 
is very sick : tell me what it is." 

“Dead, dead," sobbed Envena; “Johnnie is dead: 
they found him by the jug, dead." Ann was as much 
terrified and as wild as Envena, when informed. 

“ I can't bring 'im to," she cried. “ What did you 
come to me for ? 0 Lordy, Lordy 1 if there is a decent 

child, it dies, or something." 

“ You had better go over. Miss Ann," said Hester, 
“ and try to comfort the poor mother. Perhaps he is in 
a fainting fit, and may be brought to life." Envena 
caught at that idea, said, “ Come," and she herself 
started for home. 

Hester awoke Winnie, left baby in her care, and went 
to see if she could assist in any way. She found the 
little one, not quite four years old, still lying on the 
ground beside the jug, the hot, scorching rays of the 
sun falling on the cold, dead face ; the mowers standing 
around in silent bewilderment, too much intoxicated to 
fully realize the meaning of what they saw ; the dis- 
tracted parents weeping bitterly. 0, what a sight! 
Hester understood it all at a glance. 

There stood the destroyer, with the sugar, glasses, 


208 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and all, on a waiter ; and there stood the human accom- 
plices, mute with amazement and consternation. Her 
first impulse was to raise the dear remains in her arms, 
and remove it from the beastly, brutalizing scene to a 
place of security ; but it occurred to her that it was 
customary to hold an inquest in such cases ; so she knelt 
there by the dead, and, holding her apron so as to pro- 
tect the face, begged one of the men to go to the house 
for an umbrella. She inquired if the doctor and a jus- 
tice had been sent for. No,^^ was the reply. 

Then go for them immediately,^^ she said ; life 
may not be entirely extinct.^’ 

Ah, it might not have been had the proper efibrts 
been made when the child was first discovered. It was 
deep, deep intoxication then ; the hot, scorching sun, 
falling directly upon him, had finished the work ; and now 
he sleeps in death. The demon of the still has received 
another victim offered at midday. 

‘‘ 0 God of justice I ’’ murmured Hester, as, kneeling 
on the green, fresh grass, she chafed the little soft baby 
hand, and removed the flaxen curls from the smooth, 
white forehead, “ will the accursed fire never, never be 
extinguished, except by the blood and tears of little chil- 
dren ? How long, 0 Lord, how long ? When wilt thou 
arise in thy might to avenge the wrongs of the inno- 
cent, and punish the guilty ? 

And the answer came back slowly and distinctly to 
her inner consciousness, — 

‘‘ When my servants do my bidding, when my soldiers 
are brave, courageous, and self-sacrificing, then shall my 
kingdom be established, and the kingdom of Satan, with 
all its terrible engines of destruction, shall fall with a 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


209 


mighty crash ; and I, Jehovah, will reign, and send 
peace on earth 

They buried him ; and the evening dews fell, like tear- 
drops wrung from Nature, over the untimely dead, slain 
by her own munificent gift to man, converted by his 
cupidity and ingenuity into a consuming fire. Let all 
who oppose the Temperance Reform go look at the little 
grave ! Ay, at thousands of little graves, scattered all 
around them, made by the accursed influence of intox- 
icating drinks ! Let them look into the homes desecrated 
and desolated by intemperance. Let them look into the 
helpless, hopeless face of the drunkard^s wife, and her 
prematurely old children, and oppose the passage of any 
law that may send relief, if they dare, while God is look- 
ing on. 

The love of gain, the pleadings of a vitiated appe- 
tite, may impel them to oppose any and every effort of 
the friends of humanity. But there will be a day of 
reckoning which they cannot evade. God, the Judge, 
will hold them to a strict account. 

Little Johnnie’s death caused quite an excitement in 
the village ; all thought the liquor had been drugged. 
Mr. Stillman was accused of the sin. Mrs. Stillman was 
distressed beyond measure, while he still persisted that 
it was a lawful calling. 

I feel very thankful,’’ said Mr. Trueman to his 
family, ‘‘that I have been brought to see the evil of 
rum-selling, and left it off. I once thought it was right. 
Did you know, Linnie, that my father used to sell a hogs- 
head per week, out in this store ? Why, our minister 
used to buy ten gallons at a time.” 

14 


210 


PESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Is it possible ? was the reply. Why, people talk 
as if there was more drunkenness now than ever.^’ 

“ Yes, I know it,^^ said Mr. Trueman ; they talk so, 
and sometimes I speak so ; but is it true, considering the 
increase of population ? I think a little reflection will 
show it to be false ; at least, as far as the quantity is 
concerned, I think the quality is poorer and more poi- 
sonous. I donH think a clergyman can be found, now, 
who would use ardent spirits for a beverage. Why, it 
isn^t a great while since the bells were rung in one of 
our cities, at eleven and four o^clock, for the workmen to 
take a drink of liquor, while no bells called them to their 
meals. I admit that there may be more real drunken- 
ness and crime ; mind, I say there may be ; but it is 
owing to the drugging of liquors. Population is increas- 
ing, and people come in contact with each other more 
frequently. We know more of each other^s affairs. Once 
a man got drunk, beat his wife and children, and went 
to bed : that was the end of it. Now, if a man beats 
his wife in a drunken fit, it is known and talked of. 
Opportunities for crime are greater, the denser the pop- 
ulation. At all events, the cause has begun to be agi- 
tated ; drinkers and rum-sellers are distressed ; that is 
encouraging. Mr. Wiley talked very hard to me the 
morning before Johnnie died, because I had taken the 
course I have ; threatened to ruin my trade, and make 
a poor man of me yet.^^ 

“ He can’t — can he ? ” said Susie. 

''I don’t know,” said Mr. Trueman; “I must leave 
the result of my actions with our heavenly Father. I 
have done what I thought was right. If nominally tem- 
perance people would come to a knowledge of the truth, 
all would be well.” 


HESTER’S VISIT TO MRS. GILES. 


211 


Never fear, husband/^ said Mrs. Trueman ; I had 
rather be poor than be made rich at such a sacrifice of 
principle. We are all well ; and, with a clear conscience 
on that point, we shall never want for the necessaries of 
life.^^ 

Elevia cast a long, lingering glance at the fine new house, 
with its capacious barn, its neat flower-garden, as she left, 
and, lying back in Hester’s loving arms, thought of the 
bright hopes that had been blasted, of the sorrow, dis- 
appointment, and pain, which came to her, instead of the 
peace and happiness she had anticipated. All was dark, 
dark in the future of (his life. Mr. Giles was very happy 
and talkative. Dr. Edward rode beside them with Win- 
nie and the baby. To him, to Hester, and to the whole 
family, this was a more trying event even than Harmony’s 
death. Now they realized the truth of the old saying, 
** Living trouble is worse than dead trouble.” 

Several times the little company stopped to rest the 
invalid, who seemed more feeble than they supposed. 
The doctor was shocked at the absence of all affection 
or tender solicitude on the part of Mr. Giles. He was 
in haste to get back and attend to his hay. 

“ Come, Elevia,” he said, briskly, “ hurry up and get 
rested.” 

''Tell him to drive on,” whispered Elevia; "I can 
bear it.” And so on they went, and deposited the 
almost fainting daughter in her father’s arms — a wreck 
of her former self. 

" She don’t look so fresh, and fair, and happy as she 
did when I gave her to you, Mr. Giles,” said Mr. Lover- 
ing. But’^ — and he emphasized the word — "but 
we will try to bring back the smiles and roses, and see 


212 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


to it that the frost don^t kill them a second time — won^t 
we, Mr. Giles ? 

‘‘ Why, yes, che has faded amazingly since she was 
married. Pve noticed it, but I canH understand it : 
every wish has been gratified. We men don^t fade so.’^ 
That depends upon circumstances,^^ said Mr. Lover- 
ing, thoughtfully. “ But all women do not fade and 
become sickly as soon as they go to housekeeping. My 
Mary didn^t, the doctor^s wife hasnH, and many others 
I could mention. I think it was not intended that it 
should be so. Women are sensitive plants ; they need 
kind, tender treatment, Mr. Giles ; but it pays ; I tell 
you nothing pays better.^^ Mr. Giles stepped just in- 
side the door, where Hester and Mrs. Pay son were 
engaged in reviving Elevia, who had fainted from fatigue 
and the mental suffering she had endured, and said, in 
a careless manner, — 

“ Hurry up, Elevia, and get well ; for Ann isn^t a 
very good housekeeper. Good by.’^ Mr. Lovering 
plunged his hand into his hair, when he was gone, and 
said, — 

Zounds, Edward, he hasn^t the least bit of affection 
for her. She is the same as a slave ; I see that. She 
shan^t trouble him in the future.’’ 

‘‘ She will trouble no one long,” said the doctor, 
sadly, unless she rallies soon.” 


THE STRUGGLE AND THE TRIUMPH. 


218 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Struggle and the Triumph. — The Council. — Mr, 
Giles^ Visit. 

0, IT is hard ! sighed Elevia, as the united efforts 
of Mrs. Payson and Hester restored her to consciousness 
again. '‘I am just a burden to you all ; he does not 
care for me ; no, no I And I thought I was going so 
easily ; it is hard to come back just to suffer and be a 
burden to you all.^' 

Now don^t feel so,^^ said the widow, bustling about 
with her eyes full of tears ; ‘‘ you are just no burden at 
all to me. Why, I really think I shall be better content- 
ed, now that I have you to wait upon ; so don’t worry.” 

“ But baby will be such a care I She is teething, and 
you can’t think how worrisome she is.” 

I guess I know all about that ; my youngest child 
had a hard time getting its teeth ; she cried day and 
night. Don’t let that trouble you — don’t. Gome, the 
front chamber is all ready ; you will be away from the 
noise. I’ll do the best I can for you. It won’t be like 
having mother, I know ; but I’ve been a mother, and I’ve 
lost a mother ; so I know something how you feel. There, 
don’t try to walk ; you haven’t come to yet,” she 
said, as Elevia made the attempt, and sank back in an 
almost helpless condition. “ Hester and I can make a 
chair, school-girl fashion, and carry you. There, now 1 


214 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


isn’t the bed soft ? I stirred and shook it with all my 
might, for I knew you would be tired after your ride. 
Now you stay with her, Hester, — you understand her 
ways best, — and I will see to the baby.” 

“ Winnie will tell you just how to prepare her food,” 
whispered the invalid. 

0, yes,” was the reply ; “ I will let Winnie fix her 
food ; so rest easy about that. And if you want any 
namable thing in this house, you can have it, I know, 
just the same as ever. I hope you will get a nap and 
feel better soon.” 

Elevia lay quite still for some time after Mrs. Payson 
left the room. Hester took a seat by the bedside, and 
waited ; now and then she stroked the soft but somewhat 
faded hair. 

I think I shall like her,” said Elevia, suddenly, “ and 
her quick, bustling way won’t trouble me ; it will divert 
my mind.” 

You are right, my child,” said Hester, relieved from 
anxiety on that account ; “ she is the very soul of sin- 
cerity and kindness. She and your mother were firm 
friends, but as different as could be in many respects. 
Now try id rest, dear.” 

Another pause. Hester hoped she was sleeping. 

“ It is hard, 0, so hard ! ” moaned Elevia. “ Life was 
so bright I I thought he loved me ; our home was pleas- 
ant ; we had everything I could wish. That makes the 
cup more bitter, auntie, and yet I must drink it all.” 

“ Remember, dear,” said Hester very softly, for her 
heart was full, “ remember it is a Father’s hand that holds 
the cup. Remember the words of the dear elder Brother, 
in his untold agony in the garden — ‘ Not my will, but 
thine, be done.’ Dear Elevia, can you say thus ? ” 


THE STRUGGLE AND THE TRIUMPH. 


215 


Not yet, not yet, auntie ; my heart is hard. I can^t 
be willing to have all my beautiful dreams of happiness 
fade out in such terrible darkness. I can^t say it. 0, I 
am not a Christian, after all I Pray, auntie, pray ; I can^t 
say it ; I can^t feel it. I am not a Christian — all my 
beautiful things are laid waste — I am so unhappy ! I 
must die ; I feel sure of it ; I must die — and after death 
is the judgment — and I have no Advocate with the 
Father — no hope ! I shall go from misery to misery 
more awful than tongue can tell, and I deserve it all. 
When in health and prosperity, I scorned the message of 
mercy, and now I am dying without repentance, without 
pardon, without peace. 

Hester laid her hand soothingly upon the hot, throbbing 
head, and begged her to be quiet, while she should com- 
mend her case to God. 

“ 0, yes, pray, auntie/^ she said ; ** pray that, if it be 
possible, this cup pass from me.^' 

“If it may not/^ said Hester, “ what then ? 

“ That I may be willing to drink it, even to the very 
dregs. 

Hester was no stranger at the mercy-seat ; the lan- 
guage of prayer was familiar and pleasant to her. Her 
armor was always bright. Every want, every fear, every 
desire of the poor suffering one was spread out before 
the Lord and his Anointed, fervently and effectually. 
Word by word the sick one followed her, slowly and 
painfully, as if the words sprang from her own burdened 
soul ; and when Hester said, “ Amen,^^ she added rever- 
ently, “Not my will, 0 Lord, not my will, but thine, be 
done.^^ 

All was silent again for a few moments, and then Elevia 
remarked, — 


216 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


That was a terrible struggle, auntie, but it is over 
for the present, at least, thank God. I thought I loved 
Jesus before, and that my sins were forgiven for his sake ; 
but while coming here, I realized how entirely my husband 
was alienated from me, and also that my days were num- 
bered ; and my heart rebelled. 0, the bitterness of that 
hour, auntie ! may it never, never return ! 

‘‘ I think it will not, dear ; I trust your faith will grow 
brighter and brighter, until it overcomes the world. Per- 
haps, if I sing to you some of the beautiful hymns your 
mother and Harmony loved so well, you will drop asleep. 

Do, auntie, for I am so very tired ; take my hand in 
yours, please. 

Hester sang, “ My faith looks up to Thee,^^ &c., till the 
weary sufferer fell into a quiet sleep. She was startled 
as she noticed the change that had taken place in the 
last few hours. All their efforts to save her would be in 
vain, she feared. About her soul she felt quite easy. 
She had noticed a change in her for some time past. Her 
great darkness she attributed to bodily weakness, and 
the mental suffering through which she had just passed. 

“ If it is God’s will to take her,” she said to Mr. 
Lovering, “ we must not hold her back. Under the cir- 
cumstances, we ought to be willing, and more than willing, 
for only a life of sorrow and bitter disappointment is 
before her, if she lives. Mason Giles will never change 
much, I fear. Elevia was right when she said he did not 
care for her ; she is only a slave to him. Some women 
would have sunk down to the position quietly, uncom- 
plainingly, and died, scarcely knowing what was the mat- 
ter with them. But Elevia could not ; she has struggled 
ineffectually to keep her true position, simply because she 


THE STRUGGLE AND THE TRIUMPH. 


217 


had a cold, calculating, selfish being to deal with. It 
must be servitude and slavish submission, or open war- 
fare. I think Elevia never fully realized, until yesterday, 
how utterly hopeless is the task of gaining and retaining 
her husband’s love, and occupying the place of a wife. 
My feelings were never so outraged in my life as they 
were by his unfeeling conduct yesterday. I feared she 
would die in my arms, she was so pale : and yet he never 
showed the least concern, to say nothing of afiection. 
When I begged him to stop and let her rest, his manner 
was as brisk as if he were going on a pleasure excursion.” 

'' Yes, I noticed that,” said Mr. Lovering ; ‘'it pained 
me severely, and I resolved that she should never return 
to his house, unless she greatly desired it. For if he 
had the least bit of afiection for her, surely her sufiering 
look yesterday would have called it forth.” 

“ Yes, that is so,” said Hester. “ I think that was a 
bitter, bitter disappointment to the poor child. 0, how 
many times the dear girl has said to me in the last few 
months, ‘ If he only loved me, I could put up with his 
faults. I wouldn’t mind his locking up everything and 
doling it out to me as he would to a wasteful, thieving 
domestic, too mean ^to be trusted : that might be a fool- 
ish whim. I wouldn’t mind his fretting, if he fretted at 
others as well as me,’ she says often.” 

“ Hester,” said Mr. Lovering, sternly, “ do you pre- 
tend to say that Mason has treated his wife in that way ? 
What ! locked up the provisions, sugar and tea, and all, 
and doled them out to her in driblets ? Zounds I I 
never heard the beat of that ! Why didn’t you tell me 
before ? ” he said, plunging the right hand into the inno- 
cent gray locks. 


218 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Simply because she requested me not to/^ was the 
calm reply. She wished to keep it a secret, hoping 
that he might see his mistakes, and rectify them.’^ 

“ Niggardly man ! he groaned ; “ and at the same 
time spending so much for outside show. Now I under- 
stand why Elevia seemed to fail in cooking, and why she 
always looked so distressed and vexed when Mason ral- 
lied her about the scantiness of her provision for the 
table. After a short pause he continued, sadly, ‘‘ Hes- 
ter, I need Mary at such times as this. I need the ten- 
der, mournful glance of her eye, when passion, my old 
enemy, begins to rise. I was a terribly passionate man 
once ; quick as a flash. I thought I had conquered a 
peace. You know the reason why I used to pull my own 
hair,^’ he said, smiling sadly ; it was to keep my tongue 
still. But lately my tongue runs flrst, and the pulling 
comes afterwards, as a punishment. Heigh-ho 1 I fear I 
shall get to be as ungovernable as ever, if some loving 
hand don^t hold me in a little.’’ 

“ Your Christian hope, Mr. Lovering, ought to be as 
an anchor to you, both sure and steadfast. You have 
been sadly tried recently.” 

‘‘ That is no excuse,” was the qujjjk reply. I know 
where to look for strength and help ; I’ll go there. I 
am ashamed of myself.” 

A consultation was held over Elevia’s case, soon after 
she reached her father’s house, and nearly all hope of her 
recovery was relinquished. Hester and Martha went 
back and forth, like ministering angels. Judith, even, 
lent a willing hand, and made herself very useful, and 
won the gratitude of the whole family by her skilful 
kindness. Hester proposed to take Unie home, saying, — 


THE COUNCIL. 


219 


** Martha and I can take care of her as well as not, 
and Winnie can stay to sit with you, she is such a quiet 
little thing.’^ 

Elevia found it diflScult to express her satisfaction. 

Auntie,^^ she said, tell me the secret. ‘‘ How is it 
that you always know what I want without asking ? I 
can do nothing more for my precious babe ; I have 
given her entirely up. 0, it was hard to do it I Her 
noise disturbs me. I want to be very quiet while I live ; 
and with you and Martha I know baby will be faithfully 
tended. Yes, I should like that ; but,^^ she continued, 
with a saddened look, ‘‘ what a labor, what a task for 
you I Do hire some one to help you.^^ 

“ Kest easy, dear,'^ said Hester ; “I will do so if 
necessary.’^ 

“ When I am gone,^^ said the sick one, “ father will 
be her guardian ; that is a comfort. And he says, if Mrs. 
Payson consents, he shall adopt her, and give her my 
name. And Winnie, dear little Winnie, you will keep 
her, Hester. Father has promised to pay for educating 
her out of Unie's property. What a mercy that father 
was so firm about securing my property to me ! I was 
vexed and annoyed at the time, but now I see the wis- 
dom of it.'^ 

Mr. Giles was informed of Elevia^s danger, but seemed 
almost angry. 

‘‘ I expected it,^^ was his reply. ** Ann said she 
would die if she went there. Pll have her brought 
home, and see if we can^t get her up. Exertion, Mr. 
Lovering, is what she needs. If she had more energy, 
he mused, think she might get well. She gave up 
too soon.^^ 


220 


HESTER STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


Mr. Lovering remained silent till quite composed, and 
then said, — 

“ Mr. Giles, I think my daughter will never leave my 
house while she lives. 

“ Won^t she, though ? ” said Mr. Giles, thrown off his 
guard. “ We’ll see, we’ll see. My wife won’t do as I 
say — will she ? Who will hinder ? ” 

“ I was the firm reply ; I will, or the strong 

arm of the law will. She is unable to be moved for any 
cause now, and you cannot touch her. Come over and 
look at her ; perhaps you will be sorry for treating her 
so cruelly when you see her.” 

Mr. Giles started nervously. 

“ I tell you, Mr. Lovering, I have always treated her 
well ; I have nothing to be sorry for, only that — ” He 
hesitated. 

“ Only what, Mr. Giles ? ” 

She always said she was well,” he said, evasively. 
“ That is the way a man gets cheated. I wish I never 
had consented to her going home. How is the child ? ” 
Better,” said Mr. Lovering, holding on to the gray 
locks firmly — ‘‘ better.” 

Well, I can’t say I am glad to hear that. If the 
mother dies, it would be better if the child could follow 
her. She would be better off, you see.” 

He was thinking of money. 

“ Perhaps so ; bat I am selfish enough to want it to 
live. Come over and look at your injured, suffering 
wife.” 

I don’t understand you ; you speak in riddles,” was 
the sharp reply. ‘‘If my wife suffers, it isn’t my fault, 
but her own. I tell you, Mr. Lovering, she has a good 


MR. GILES’ VISIT. 


221 


stock of the old family pride and stubbornness. A wife 
shouldn't set up to have her own way, as she has. The 
Scriptures say, ‘ Wives, submit yourselves — ” 

** I must go,” said Mr. Lovering, in a low, tremulous 
voice. “ Some other time we will talk about this.'^ 

Mr. Giles came over Sabbath eve, and seemed some- 
what surprised at the change in his wife, and sobered by 
her deathly look. 

Mason, said Elevia, holding up her pale, attenuated 
arm, you see that I am going. I may have been a 
poor wife to you, but my heart was yours ; and now, as 
I stand so near the portals of death, I can say that I 
have always tried to please you. If I have failed, for- 
give me ; it was not intentional.’^ 

She turned her large, lustrous eyes full on his face, 
and waited for a reply. Mr. Giles was not expecting 
this ; he was somewhat softened. 

“ Perhaps you have,” he said, hurriedly ; we all 
make mistakes. I think you have resisted my will rather 
too much ; but I will forgive you. I hope I have a for- 
giving spirit. You are willing to be moved home, I dare 
say ; it is more proper for you to die in your own house. 
Of course you will make me the guardian of our child’s 
propertj^ ; no one can do better for it than I can, I am 
sure. Ann and 1 have been missing her, and you, too, 
Levie. We want you both at home.” 

The pale face flushed deeply, and she glanced hurried- 
ly from her father to Mrs. Payson, who started up and 
stood between Mr. Giles and the bed. 

‘‘ Why, Mr. Giles,” she stammered, ‘‘you are — why, 
I don’t know exactly what I am going to say. You see 
she only just lived to get here — that was all ; Hester 


222 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


thought she wouldn^t — but she couldn^t live to get 
back, noways at all. She is weaker, a great deal weaker, 
now. And about the baby — it is real troublesome. 
Miss Ann would get tired to death of it, it worries so. 
Why, it takes Hester and Martha half their time to keep 
it quiet. 

“ 0, as to that,’’ said Mr. Giles, “ it is good for chil 
dren to cry. But, if you please, Mrs. Payson, Levie can 
speak for herself. What do you say, Levie ? ” he said, 
cheerfully. Shall I come for you the first fair day ? 
Your being here is making a good deal of talk, sister 
Wiley tells me.” 

"^0, Mason,” she said, pleadingly, look at me, and 
tell me if you think I am able. I am almost through. 
Let me die here, please.” 

Mr. Lovering saw that she was becoming very much 
distressed, and he could endure it no longer. 

Mr. Giles,” he said, striving to speak calmly, “ I 
wish to see you alone.” He motioned Mrs. Payson to 
stay and comfort Elevia. 

“ You shall do just as you have a mind to, and that 
child shan’t be carried to Miss Ann — never ; so rest 
easy, dear. It was too bad for him to talk in that way. 
How I wish Hester was here — this blessed moment I 
She would know just what to say to you, and one of her 
prayers would make you as quiet as a lamb. There, let 
me read some of them hymns, or something out of the 
Bible — shall I?” Elevia made no reply. “If you 
just want me to keep still, tell me so. 0, I know ; I’ll 
call your little comforter.” 

Elevia nodded. 

“ I won’t be gone a second,” she said, darting out of 


MR. GILES* VISIT. 


223 


the room, sajn’ng to herself, “ I wish I was her mother 
this blessed night, I do. Poor child ! I could say some 
things then that I can’t now. If he ever asks me to 
marry him again, I will, if it’s the day after the funeral. 
I should like to see them get that child then. Why, 
why ! who would a thought it of him ! the old brute, he 
hasn’t a mite of feeling. Winnie,” she said, Mr. Giles 
has worried your aunt’s life almost out of her. She’s 
got one of them terrible nervous turns. Run, child, and 
see if you can quiet her. I can’t.” 

Winnie saw at a glance that silent sympathy was the 
best medicine. She kissed her tenderly, and passed her 
small, soft hand gently over the throbbing temples. 

That is nice,” whispered the sufferer, closing her 
eyes wearily ; it rests me.” An hour passed, and still 
sleep came not. Patiently Winnie kept her post. 
“ Can’t you sing, Winnie ? Perhaps that will stop my 
thinking ; I feel terribly. I can’t keep still,” she said, 
tossing her arms. 

Uncle Edward is in the parlor ; let me call him,” 
said Winnie. He will give you something to take.” 

Not while Mason stays here,” was the reply. “ I 
know what they are talking about, and it distresses me.” 

Winnie came back in a moment, saying, — 

** He is going now, auntie, and uncle is coming to re- 
lieve you.” 

All that passed in the parlor we may not tell ; but Mr. 
Giles threw off all disguise, and said many hard, unfeel- 
ing things ; declared he had been cheated and deceived 
about the property. He wouldn’t have married her if he 
had known. 

** Didn’t you tell me, Mr. Giles,” said Mr. Lovering, 


224 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


‘‘ when you asked me for my daughter, that you didnH 
want the property ? that you had enough to support 
her, and wished she was poor, that you might prove your 
devotion to her ? You can^t deny it. Is that a speci- 
men of your sincerity, Mr. Giles ? 

‘‘0, well, I didn’t care for that paltry thousand or 
two ; if she had been poor it would have been all the 
same. But then a man wants his just rights — that’s all 
I’ve had the trouble of her, and it’s just that I should have 
the control of the child, and what little property there is. 
Who has a better right to control a child than a father, I 
should like to know ? I’ll see what the law says about 
this thing. You’ve rather got the whip-row of me ; 
but we’ll see.” And he strode away. 

Unmasked,” said Dr. Edward. 

Mr. Giles called at Mr. Manlie’s to inquire after Unie ; 
was very pleasant and sympathetic ; spoke of “ poor 
Elevia ” with much apparent feeling, and said nothing of 
what had been transpiring. Unie was shy of him at 
first ; but he showed her his watch, gave her his knife, 
&c., until by and by she sat composedly on his knee, 
when his manner changed. 

“ Miss Manlie,” he said, in a commanding tone, 
bring the child’s cloak ; I am going to give her an 
airing. And you may as well pick up her clothes gener- 
ally ; she will remain at my house for the present.” 

The family were astonished ; Hester remonstrated : 
Martha pleaded ; but all in vain. 

It will kill the baby,” said Hester. “ She is a 
stranger to you, and Ann hates her, and you know it. 
Come, let us keep her ; it won’t cost you anything. 
Elevia will be distressed beyond measure.” 


MR. GILES’ VISIT. 


225 


I can’t help that,” was the cold reply. “ I have a 
right to my child. She has got to die, at any rate ; it 
won’t make much difference ; and the baby would be 
better off if it should die too.” 

‘‘ I think so,” said Hester ; '' but I don’t want her to 
cry herself to death. Come to auntie, darling.” 

The child reached out her arms. 

“ No, no,” said Mr. Giles ; ^‘little girl, you must go 
with me whether they get your things or not.” He 
started for the carriage ; baby commenced crying piteous- 
ly. 0, that won’t frighten me,” he remarked, looking 
from one to another ; ‘‘ I’ve heard that before.” 

‘‘ If you wish to prove to the world that you are a 
monster, why, take her,” said Hester. Wait, and I 
will get her things.” 

By this time all the family were in tears. Little Mary 
opened her large eyes in utter amazement. 

‘‘ Ganpa kie, artie kie, Mamie kie,” she kept saying. 

Little Elida stamped her tiny foot, saying, — 

“ Naught}^ man to carry off my little baby-dirl. Gis 
her to auntie, naughty man.” 

‘‘ God reward you,” said Hester, as she fastened the 
little cloak and unclasped the tiny hands that clung to her. 

“ God punish you,” said the gentle Martha, '' for this 
and the other — ” She broke down and wept aloud. 

When Elida saw him drive off, she exclaimed, — 

“ Now, I’ll tell God ’bout him ; ” and she too com- 
menced crying. 

Hester hastened to her own room. Grandpa and 
baby tried to comfort Martha. 

‘‘ Don’t kie, artie, don’t kie. Mamie kie.” 

In a short time Hester appeared all ready for a walk. 

15 


226 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Martha/’ said she, I shall follow her. Mind that 
Elevia don’t know anything of this. If she wishes to 
see baby, why, make some excuse till I bring her back. 
Don’t tell it to anybody. If Mr. Lovering comes, charge 
him to keep it from Winnie and Elevia. I’ll bring her 
back,” she said in a husky voice. 

Mrs. Payson was very uneasy after Mr. Giles left. 

“ Mr. Lovering,” said she, ^Mt is my humble opinion 
that he will go straight to Mr. Manlie’s and take the 
child, and I wish you would take the doctor’s horse and 
head him off. Now, come, do ; it will be awful if they 
get her.” 

0, no danger of that,” was the reply ; it would be 
too much trouble. What would he do that for ? He 
can’t get the property.” 

Perhaps not,” was the quick reply; ‘'but couldn’t 
he torment your life out of you ? and couldn’t he let that 
child cry its eyes out of its head ? What would he care ? 
And if the child worries itself to death, wouldn’t the 
property go to him ? ” 

“ It would if steps were not taken to prevent it,” was 
the reply. 

“Well, then,” said the earnest little woman, “take 
all the steps that are necessary — do ; but don’t let him 
lay his hands on that child. Didn’t he say it was good 
for the blessed little things to cry, and die, too ? You 
heard him.” 

Mr. Lovering looked thoughtful. 

“ If he is going to take her to-night, I am too late; 
his horse is a fast one. I can’t get there in season ; but 
I will go over early in the morning, and put them on 
their guard.” 


ABOUT THE BABY. 


227 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

About the Baby. — Trouble upon Trouble. — The 
Proposal. 

Early the next morning, Mr. Lovering rode up to Mr. 
Manlie’s door. Somehow, his heart misgave him. He 
dreaded to inquire for baby, who had learned to reach 
out its little arms, as it had never done to its father. 

Martha burst into tears as soon as she saw him. 

What is it ? said he, dropping into the nearest 
chair. “ Where are Hester and baby ? 

The old emphatic “ Zounds I sprang to his lips 
when Martha informed him ; but he resolutely held it 
back, thinking how the word had troubled Mary. He 
simply said, — 

“ Heigh-ho I This will be a terrible blow to Elevia. 
Martha, that man is a villain. I’ll ride over and see if 
I can’t bring them back.” 

You had better not,” said Martha ; ** Hester will 
get along best alone. Does Elevia know you were com- 
ing here ? ” 

No, Mrs. Pay son knows it. She wanted me to 
come last night ; she thought he would take it ; I didn’t. 
I promised her I’d ride over and see.” 

“ Well, don’t let Elevia know a word about it ; don’t 
tell her you have been here ; and if she wants to see 


228 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


her, make one excuse after another, and put her off. 
Just the moment she gets back with her, we will let you 
know.’^ 

“ 1^11 do as you say about that,’^ said Mr. Lovering ; 

but I’ll see Mr. Leonard to-day, and know what the 
law says about these things.” 

He returned home disheartened and anxious. 

Then he has taken her,” said Mrs. Payson, as soon 
as he rode up to the door. 

“ Yes,” was the reply, “ and that isn’t the worst of 
it ; I don’t know how in the world we shall get her 
again. Hester followed her ; what she intends doing I 
don’t know. But Elevia and Winnie must know nothing 
of this ; so you had better not speak of it to any one. 
If he loved the child, or had almost anybody to take 
care of her, except Ann, it would be different.” 

He leaned his head on the table in a desponding mood. 
Mrs. Payson fluttered about like a wounded bird. 

“ Now, if I had only married him,” she thought, “ I 
should know what to say to comfort him. Well, I won’t 
refuse again if he ever asks me.” 

Tears came into her eyes ; she couldn’t bear to see 
him feel so. She sat down at the other end of the table, 
leaned her elbow on it, her head on her hand, instead of 
going to his side, as her heart prompted her. 

'‘You have had trouble upon trouble, Mr. Lovering,” 
said she, " and you bear it as a Christian should. I 
could not bear it half so well.” 

" I don’t know about that,” was the reply. " I am 
sure your life has been full of self-denying, Christian love 
ever since I knew you. My esteem for you has been 
greatly strengthened recently, and my children are learn- 


THE PROPOSAL. 


229 


ing to respect and love you ; so your objections to be- 
coming my wife are growing less and less. Perhaps, 
when Elevia took your hand and placed it in mine last 
night, you did not fully understand her meaning. I did. 
She had expressed a wish to me that you might become 
my wife, and be a mother to her child before she leaves 
me. They have gone — one at a time — Mary and Har- 
mony ; and Elevia is almost through, poor child, he 
groaned. ‘‘ It will be a comfort toiler to know that you 
will help me train her child. You can do so as my house- 
keeper, but better, much better, as my wife. I know I 
am asking a great deal of you,’’ he said, sadly ; “ per- 
haps I am selfish ; but I need you, Mrs. Payson ; yes, I 
need you as much as the baby. I believe I am getting 
to be a child myself, or I should have waited until it was 
all over before speaking to you again on this subject.” 

He bowed his head, and wept. 

No wonder if you are weak and childish,” said Mrs. 
Payson, herself weeping, after all you have suffered ; 
and then to think how you have been kept awake nights ; 
it is enough to kill you. On some accounts I would 
rather wait untd it is all over ; but if it will be any com- 
fort to you or her, why, it is no matter. I have been 
sorry ever since she came home that I didn’t marry you 
before ; and if I could have seen all the trouble that was 
coming upon you, why, I would in a moment. But I 
was afraid I wasn’t just the one to please the children, 
and then I shouldn’t have been happy. But now, if I 
can be any help to you, take me ; I am a poor creature 
at best. I hope you won’t be sorry, and I feel sure I 
shan’t.” 

I thank you a thousand times, Mrs. Payson,” he 


230 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


said, rising and taking her hand. “ Come, let us cheer 
up, and go and tell Levie about it. The dear child is 
feeling anxious lest the additional care may drive you 
away from me.^’ 

0, she needn^t, poor darling. I shall stay all the 
sooner. I shouldn't be fit to live if I could leave you 
with the care of a little, helpless babe. I was only afraid 
they wouldn’t like me — that’s all ; I am so difierent from 
Mary. I never can fill her place. I feel almost afraid 
now.” She hesitated, and turned pale. 

You need not fear, my dear Mrs. Payson.” 

“ Call me * Lizzie ; ’ William always did,” said the 
widow. 

“ I know of no one that will please me or my children 
but yourself,” said Mr. Lovering. We have proved 
you, and you were Mary’s friend, you know. Life has 
been robbed of its romance ; we have learned to live 
amid its sober realities, to enjoy its blessings and bear 
its sorrows — have we not, Lizzie ? ” 

I should think we might have learned,” was the 
reply. “ 1 , at least, am a dull scholar. But we have 
both seen affliction, and can understand each other, I 
think. I am not afraid on my own account.” 

“ Then you need not fear,” was the prompt reply. 

My poor, wounded affections are yours, and you have 
quite won the hearts of my children. Olive, even, the 
most obstinate of them all, had no objections. Come, 
let us make Elevia glad for a moment.” He led her in, 
and with a calm, peaceful look on his face, said, Bless 
us, my child ; she has consented to take me for better or 
for worse — little Unie, sick Elevia, and all. Can’t you 
thank her ? ” 


THE PROPOSAL. 


231 


The sick one reached out her pale, thin hand, and said, 
with a smile, — 

Yes, dear father, I can ; and you, too, for coming 
so soon to tell me. And 0, Father in heaven, she said, 
fervently clasping her hands, “ I thank thee, too, for 
raising up one so kind and worthy to be a comfort to 
my father and a mother to my babe.^^ 

Mrs. Payson was much affected ; she stooped over 
the sick one, saying, — 

“ Can you love me, dear, and trust me with your child? 
Are you willing I should occupy your mothers place ? 
Then I am happy. God helping me, I will try to do 
right by little Unie, and help your father bear the burdens 
of life.^^ 

Sealing her promise with a kiss, she busied herself in 
making the invalid comfortable. 

“ What does Winnie say to all this ? ” said Mr. Lov- 
ering. Do you think you will like to have a new 
grandmother ? 

‘‘ Why, I have been saying, ‘ Bless the Lord, 0 my 
soul,^ ever since you came in,’^ was the joyful reply. 

I had a great deal rather have Mrs. Payson for grand- 
mother than housekeeper, for now she iiS ours, you see ; 
she belongs to us ; she is all our own, and we can have 
her always, unless — Winnie^s voice faltered — ^'un- 
less God takes her.^' 

“You precious, darling child, said Mrs. Payson, 
folding her in her arms, “ it won’t be very hard to be- 
long to you ; that is a fact. I loved you the moment I 
laid my eyes on your blessed face. And you are such 
a patient little nurse, it almost kills me to see you so 
confined. I can’t have it so much longer. There, dear. 


232 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


now we are good friends for life I hope ; so go and play 
out in the open air for an hour. I will stay with auntie.^' 
“ I should like to read my new book uncle Edward 
bought me/^ was the reply, if you are willing.^’ 

Why, child, haven^t you had time to read that yet 
said Mrs. Payson. '' Well, I never I You are the patient- 
est little thing I ever saw. Read it ? Yes, indeed, only 
go and find some good, cool, shady place out of doors. 
And don’t stir till it is finished, unless you wish to.” 

I thank you,” said Winnie. I wanted to read it 
very much, but the leaves rattled and made auntie start. 
Can I bring you anything, auntie,” she inquired, '^be- 
fore I go ? ” 

No, darling,” was the reply; go and enjoy your 
book now. You are auntie’s comforter in every sense' 
of the word.” 


HESTER RESCUES THE BABY. 


233 


CHAPTEK XXV. 

Hester rescues the Baby from its unnatural Father. 

Dr. Edward^s timely Arrival. 

It was quite dark when Hester arrived at Mr. Giles\ 
The nervous sobbing of little Unie smote her ear pain- 
fully. She listened a moment. 

W^at did you bring that young un ^ere for, I wonder ? 
I won^t touch ^er, moreen I would a snake. 

Come, Ann, don’t be so mean ; I thought you’d do 
that much to help me. Undress her ; she is most used 
up. I’ve conquered her ; I don’t believe she’ll raise the 
neighbors again to-night, screaming. It’s the real Lover- 
ing temper — isn’t it ? ” 

Do’no ; guess she got some on’t t’other side,” was 
the glum retort. “ Young uns are a plague, any way. 
Come ’ere, then.” 

A quick, sharp cry followed this speech. Hester raised 
the latch and entered. 

Good evening. Miss Ann,” said she. I thought 
you would have trouble, and came over to help you take 
care of her, till she gets acquainted. Poor little thing ; 
she is as timid as can be.” Mr. Giles arose, and strode 
towards the baby ; but Hester was before him ; she had 
little Unie folded tightly in her strong arms. 

'' Mr. Giles,” said she, this child is almost dead. If 
it should go into a fit and die to-night, it would go hard 


234 


HE8TEE STKONG’S LIFE WORK. 


with you. She was perfectly well when you took her. 
There I look I see what you have done/^ as the nervous 
sobbing ceased, and the little form writhed in strong con- 
vulsions ; “ see \” 

I see ! was the startled reply. “ I didn^t think of 
that. Why 1 I never ! What shall I do ? 

The little face was black and distorted ; the frail form 
shook and quivered. Hester wiped the froth from the 
blue lips, and said, — 

“ Promise me, Mr. Giles, that in two or three days 
you will carry her back with me, unless she seems per- 
fectly willing to stay, and I will try to save her. Will 
you promise ? ’’ Another struggle. 

“Yes, yes, save her, and do what you please with her. 
Don’t let her die on my hands so suddenly.” He had 
never seen any one in a fit before *, it was truly appalling. 
Hester saw that he trembled. 

“It is strange,” said she ; “it acts something like 
poison. What have you given her, Mr. Giles ? ” 

“ 0, nothing I nothing 1 Have I, Ann ? ” 

“ Do’no ; good nuff for ye ; needn’t bring ’er ’ere,” 
was the reply. Hester applied herself diligently to re- 
lieving the little sufferer ; and after a while, the muscles 
relaxed, the eyes opened. 

“ Birdie, bird,” said Hester, “ ’tis auntie.” 

The frightened look passed away, the little stiff hand 
was raised painfully to Hester’s face, a smile parted the 
yet blue lips. 

“ She looks very deathly,” said Hester. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Giles ; “ I never saw anything like 
it. Do you think she is going to die ? ” 

“ I can’t tell ; you had better leave me alone with her. 


HESTER RESCUES THE BABY. 


235 


If she should have another, as bad as that, right off, I 
think she would die. It seems to me she must have taken 
something. HavenH you given her some laudanum, or 
something, Ann ? You had her when I came.^^ 

“ 0, Lordy, no ! I hain^t gin ^er nothin\ He licked 
^er ; I didnH,’^ she said, as Hester, in removing the child^s 
clothing, pointed at some large red marks. Mr. Giles 
looked. 

Why, I didn^t think I struck so hard,^^ he said. 

Baby shrank away from him, and moved her head from 
side to side. 

“ Hush ! ’’ said Hester ; “ leave her alone with me, or 
she will have another fit.^' 

She was obeyed instantly. They were both thoroughly 
frightened by this time. 

“ Die, or not die,^^ said Ann, I ain^t done nothin^ ; 
ye needn^t a’ brought ^er ^ere.^' 

Hester slept but little that night. Hnie was very rest- 
less, starting in her sleep, and crying out every now and 
then. She was glad when the rays of morning peeped in 
at the window, for she had passed a dreary, lonesome 
night, and longed to take baby in her arms and make 
her escape before the inmates of the house arose, but felt 
that she must wait. 

Once well done is twice done,’^ was her motto. If 
Mr. Giles consented to give up the child, that would end 
the matter. 

Three days passed. They were full of trouble and 
weariness to Hester, full of doubt and anxiety to the 
friends at home. Little Uuie was very sick. The fright, 
the length of time she had cried, the cruel blows she had 
received, and change of food, had been too much for her. 


236 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Hester reallj’’ feared that she should never be able to 
carry her home. Mr. Giles felt mortified and somewhat 
frightened ; Miss Ann, angry. 

Pretty fuss youVe got us into — ain^t ye ? she said 
to Hester, when called upon to render some little ser- 
vice. 

Hester made no reply, because Ann^s voice caused 
Unie to start, every time she heard it. 

“ Mr. Giles, said Hester, '' I think you had better 
carry us home ; the child will never be any better here. 
Every time she opens her eyes, it seems as if she would 
go into fits. It is lucky for you that I came, for I cer- 
tainly think the child would not have lived through the 
first night. Had she come out of that fit in your arms, 
or Ann^s, she would have gone into another, and so on 
till she died. It would have been hard for you to con- 
vince people that you were not guilty of a horrid crime. 
Yes,^’ she said, “ I am glad I came, for your sake as well 
as other reasons.’^ 

It would have been awkward, to be sure,^^ said Mr. 
Giles, thoughtfully. 

‘‘ And there are those marks, too,^^ said Hester. ** I 
never saw such a sight on so young a child.” 

“ I had no idea,” said Mr. Giles, “ that I should leave 
a mark ; but she was a stubborn little thing ; she wouldnH 
stop her screaming till I had whipped her several times.” 

For shame ! ” said Hester ; the little thing wasn’t 
stubborn ; she was frightened and grieved, that was all. 
I never saw her show a bit of temper. Come, Mr. Giles, 
promise me — yes, promise me in black and white — that 
you will carry us back, and never take her again without 
the consent of her guardian, or her own ; and I promise 


HESTER RESCUES THE BABY. 


237 


that these marks shall never be seen out of the family, and 
this whole affair shall be hushed up. I promise never to 
reveal what I heard through the open window. 

Mr. Giles started. 

‘‘ Eavesdropping ! he said, fiercely. “ Woman, what 
did you hear ? 

Hester saw the frightened look, and concluded that after 
all she had not heard the worst. 

‘‘ 0, I heard some things,’^ Mr. Giles, that had better 
never have been heard by mortal ear, to say nothing of 
the ever-present God.^^ 

Eavesdropper I tell me, I say, tell me what you 
heard. He came close up to her, his whole countenance 
expressing rage. 

“ Stand farther oflf,^^ said Hester, sternly ; you will 
frighten Unie to death. 

I wish to God she was — He stopped. 

“ I know it, Mr. Giles, I know it ; but you shall not 
kill her.^^ 

Hester laid her on the bed, and turned towards him with 
a calm, resolute look. He seemed to be measuring her 
from head to foot, while every muscle of his face ex- 
pressed passion, hatred, ay, malignity. 

Devil,^’ he said, hoarsely, '' tell me what you heard. 

*'■ I shall not,^’ said Hester, resolutely. “ Mason Giles, 
I am not an ‘ eavesdropper.^ I came here that night 
under peculiar circumstances, as you very well know. I 
knew you would need me, and you did. I didn’t expect 
to hear what I heard,” she said, bending towards him and 
speaking low, ^'nor see just what I saw, either. I ex- 
pected to hear Unie crying, nothing more. I hesitated 
at the door. Am I to blame for hearing what I heard ? 


238 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


It was lucky for you that it was I who heard it; and not 
another,’^ she said, impressively. But I promise in the 
presence of God, that I will never repeat all I heard, if 
you will give me the writing I require.’’ 

“ I’ll trust you,” said he, the muscles of his face re- 
laxing ; I’ll trust you ; but if you break your oath, be- 
ware. But first give me a writing that I shall never be 
called upon to pay the child’s board, or other expenses, 
and also that you will forever keep a secret those terrible, 
thoughtless words you heard. I didn’t mean it ; I was 
vexed.” 

That I will do,” said Hester. ** Bring me pen and 
paper.” 

The two papers were exchanged, and Hester made a 
bundle of the few garments belonging to baby, and wait- 
ed for Mr. Giles. 

I shan’t trust ’er, if you do, till she’s gin suthin 
better ’n that ; ’er tongue is allers a runnin’,” she heard 
Miss Ann say, as she stepped out to hasten preparations. 

A strange feeling came over her as she returned and 
waited another hour. Unie was in a deep sleep, and 
everything was still. She felt timid ; it was a new feel- 
ing to her. 

My nerves are getting weak,” she thought ; I 
haven’t slept much for three nights. Mr. Giles,” she 
called, are you almost ready ? Unie is sleeping, and it 
is getting late. I should like to go now.” 

I have concluded, not to go till morning, it is so late,” 
was the reply ; and Ann will help you take care of 
Unie to-night.” 

'"lam sorry,” said Hester ; " the longer you keep her, 
the more stir it will make. But Ann can’t help me ; it 


DR. EDWARD’S TIMELY ARRIVAL. 


239 


would only worry the child, and keep me awake. If you 
are not going, I will lock the door, and lie down, while 
baby sleeps. Good night.’^ 

Hester knelt in prayer, first of all, and then threw 
herself wearily on the bed. She could not think she was 
in danger, and yet she could not feel that she was safe. 
She knew not what to expect. She arose and looked 
from the window. The darkness, as it gathered over hill 
and valley, made her feel more lonely. Unie awoke, and 
partook more heartily of nourishment than she had done 
before. When she slept again, all was still in the house 
and on the street. It was eleven. Hester raised the 
window which opened on the piazza, put on her shawl 
and bonnet, took the bundle on her arm, folded baby to 
her bosom, and stepped forth. 

** Only a mile and a half,^' she thought ; “I can walk 
it.'^ The night air felt damp. Little Unie lay like a 
dead weight on her arms. “ I am not so strong as I once 
was,^^ sighed Hester. “ Perhaps I had better have staid 
till morning ; but I am getting nervous ; that is plain. 
There is something about that house that is terribly de- 
pressing ; and I feel as if I must see Elevia. I am afraid 
this affair will reach her. No, I am glad I started ; I am 
half way home now.’' She paused in her walk for a mo- 
ment, and sat upon a stone. The moon was shining 
brightly. A carriage came slowly up the hill, and Hester 
watched it eagerly on its winding way. She arose and 
stepped out into the light. The doctor drew his rein, and 
looked at the strange apparition, but recognized her in a 
moment, saying, — 

Aunt Hester, is that you ? How came you here ? ” 
** Don’t you know ? ” said she. “I’ve got the baby, 


240 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and, what is more, a writing from the father. Here, help 
me into the carriage, and drive fast, for I do believe the 
dear child is either dying or having another fit.^^ 

It is a fit,^^ said the doctor, springing into the car- 
riage. I shall drive to my own house ; it is about as 
near, and I can attend to her better there. 

I do believe God sent you along just at this critical 
moment,’^ said Hester. I can’t explain now,” she said, 
in answer to a question from the doctor, as she held the 
little sufferer so she could feel the air. This is pretty 
fast getting along,” said Hester ; '' I am glad we are here, 
doctor,” she continued, as she stepped slowly from the 
carriage to the ground, Hester Strong is growing weak, 
I do believe.” 

There is a good reason for it,” said the doctor ; 
worn out in our service. Hester, this must not be any 
longer ; you must rest.” The docter spoke to his wife, 
and for the first time in her life, Hester found herself un- 
able to render necessary assistance. She was obliged to 
leave baby in their care and retire. Fortunately, baby did 
not miss her ; she remained in a partial stupor all night. 
The doctor retired, and his wife was left alone with the 
care of Unie. While attending to her wants, she made 
a discovery which agitated her greatly ; namely, the 
large, ugly marks mentioned. They were dark now, and 
looked worse than ever. 

‘‘ Edward,” she called, quickly, “come here, do.” 

He was there in a moment. 

“ Look at that,” she said, pointing at the marks ; 
“ what is that ? ” They looked at each other in per- 
plexity. 

“ Hester has passed through more thar we know,” 
said the doctor. 


DR. EDWARD’S TIMELY ARRIVAL. 


241 


“ Yes, and baby too/ ^ was the reply. “ What can it 
tncaii ? You don’t think Mason did it — do you ? ” 

“ Yes ; who would, if he didn’t ? Poor little thing I 
I should really like to know what this means, and how 
Hester came on that hill, at that time of night, with an 
almost dying child. But we must wait.” 

Yes,” said his wife : “ now go to bed again ; you 
need rest. I shouldn’t have called you, but I was fairly 
frightened. I can take care of her. I am to give her 
this every hour, you say ? ” 

Yes.” 

Little Unie seemed better in the morning, but Hester 
felt quite unwell. 

I shall be better in a day or two,” she said to the 
doctor. “ I have been over-anxious and over-worked. I 
was so afraid Martha would worry herself sick, or that 
Elevia would hear about it. And there is my little Fossie ; 
I can’t bear to leave her. Besides, your father is all 
broken down. I wish he was nicely married ; don’t you, 
doctor ? ” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, promptly, “I do. Do you 
think Mrs. Payson will marry him ? ” 

“ Yes, if I understand such matters,” said Hester, 
smiling. “ But they must not be kept in suspense any 
longer. If you are determined to keep us, you must ride 
over and tell them we are here, safe and sound. But 
don’t tell them how you found me. Tell them baby is 
sick from crying so long, with fright, and change of food, 
&c. That is about the truth — isn’t it ? And you think 
she will get over it soon, — don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, I hope she may, with good care ; but it will be 
16 


242 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


some time first. That man ought to sufier ; but we mus' 
leave him in the hands of God.^^ 

“ I am willing to/^ said Hester. I am glad I haven^l 
got to judge him.^’ 

My father never invested any money so well in his 
life as he did that which he spent on Hester/^ said Mr. 
Lovering, when the doctor showed him the papers which 
she had procured from Mr. Giles. She has been the 
greatest possible blessing to my family. God bless her.^^ 

He will,^^ said Mrs. Payson ; '' hasn’t he blessed her, 
and doesn’t he bless every living soul that she stays 
with ? Only think how she got that baby I There isn’t 
another person that could have done it. Her poor mother 
is expecting Hester to bring it over to-day. You had 
better tell her Hester isn’t well ; that will satisfy her.” 

Grandpa Manlie and Martha were rejoiced to hear the 
news. 

Bring them home as soon as it is safe,” said Martha. 
Elida capered about, when told that auntie and Unie were 
over to uncle Edward’s, and coming home soon. 

Dare,” said she, “ I told God ’bout that naughty 
man, and he said — ” She paused. 

“ What did he say, pet ? ” asked the doctor, greatly 
amused. 

'' Well, he said 'he’d see ’bout it.’ He did -^didn’t 
he, auntie ? ” 


MIDUIGHT MUSINGS. 


243 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Midnight Musings. — The Discovery. — Conscience dis- 
turbed. 

Mason Giles slept but little that night. For the first 
time in his life he was angry with himself. 

I was a fool to touch the young one, in the first 
place, he mused — ‘‘yes, a d — d fool 1 But if Ann 
had kept still, I shouldn’t have whipped her so hard. 
Of course I didn’t mean to kill her.” He shuddered. 
“ What if I had ? Hester saved the little creature, I do 
believe, and my neck, perhaps.” He moved restlessly 
from side to side. “ Likely enough I haven’t treated 
Levie just right. I believe she has tried to please 
me. 0, well, women are always fussing about some- 
thing I She needn’t have cared whether I loved her or 
not. What should I care about that if I had a good 
home ? What if I did fret ? I had a right to, in my 
own house. I worked hard ; women don’t consider that. 
They have an easy time sitting round in the house ; and 
when a man comes in, all tired out, why, it must be. 
‘ My dear,’ or ‘ My love,’ like Dr. Lovering. 

Fudge ! that don’t get a living, nor pay taxes. A 
man is a fool to get married. I wish I hadn’t locked 
everything up, though, for I don’t think Levie was waste- 
ful. Nonsense! Whose business is it? Isn’t a man’s 
house his castle ? I thought all men did so — father 


244 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


did. I wonder if brother Wiley lets his wife manage 
those things ? I’ll ask her. Dear me, I wish I could 
go to sleep I hard work coming to-morrow. Lev did 
look pitiful when she asked me to forgive her. I wish 
I could forget it.” He moved to the other side of the 
bed as he thought, Why, I am lying in her place. 
She was very pretty when I married her. How the fel- 
lows all envied me ! And, after all, I can’t think of 
anything very bad that she ever did. I wish she hadn’t 
asked me to forgive her, for I’m the most to blame. But 
I wouldn’t tell her so, to save her. No ; I’ll be hanged 
if I do : ’twould please them too much. And, after all, 
wasn’t I the head of the family ? She should have sub- 
mitted to me. It is a wife’s place to submit. I wish 
Ann wouldn’t make my tea so strong I I shan’t sleep a 
wink to-night. She’s as stubborn again as Levie — 
that’s a fact ; and not half as good a housekeeper. She 
is a miserable cook, and it costs more to live, too. I 
mean to get along alone. I suppose I can’t, though, 
till after harvesting ; so I will try to keep still. There 
is one thing I’m determined to do : I’ll get that paper 
back, or Hester shan’t leave. Unie will be big enough 
to keep house some time, if she lives ; then I’ll want 
her. If Ann could have got in there and stolen the 
writings, why, they wouldn’t have got any more — 
that’s certain. If the child should die after Hester has 
had the care of her three or four days, I’m safe enough. 
And then, if Lev should happen to die suddenly, I don’t 
believe they’d think to secure the property. I don’t 
know but what things are working well enough. Why 
in the world can’t I go to sleep ? Here it is past mid- 
night. 0, dear I ” He tried to sleep, but his mind was 


MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 


245 


thoroughly waked up. There now, I think of it,’^ he 
said aloud, sitting up in bed, it isn’t at all likely that 
Hester heard me swear I would ‘ kill the young one, if 
it didn’t stop, and its grandfather, too,’ or any of that 
foolish, passionate talk, for that was before I whipped 
her the last time. I paid on as if I meant to; she 
never could have stood that — never; she would have 
rushed in and pounced upon me, thinking, sure enough, 
I meant to kill the child. Why, I had no idea of doing 
it, or of whipping her half so hard as I did. It was 
provoking to have Ann say, ' Kill ’er, and done with 
it ; you’d better. I shan’t bury ’er, nor lie nuther, to 
save yer neck.’ She might have kept still. I could 
have wrung her neck, I was so angry. I declare I be- 
lieve I should have killed the baby if Hester hadn’t come. 
But she didn’t hear that part, I know. What a fool 
I was to get so frightened I I’ll make her tell what 
she did hear before I carry her home.” 

The night wore away at last ; breakfast was ready. 

I’ll skim the milk while yer eatin’,” said Ann, “ and 
slip round when I carry out a panful, an’ see if I can’t 
find that are writin’. Good ’nuff for ye, if ye don’t get 
it ; ye’d no business to gi’n it to ’er.” 

‘‘Perhaps not,” said Mr. Giles. “That is a bright 
thought, Ann ; get it if you can, for I don’t want an- 
other fuss with her, and the sooner they’re off, why, the 
better, you know.” They called Hester ; but there was 
no answer. They tried the door ; it was locked. They 
called again, but could get no reply. 

“ Both dead, likely as not,” muttered Ann ; “ a 
pretty fuss you’ve got us into.” Mr. Giles stood aghast. 

“ Sure enough,” he muttered ; “ but I should have 


246 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


carried them off last night only for your interference. 
A pretty fuss/^ he muttered, “ sure enough. Come, 
let^s go round and look in at the window. Gone I as 
sure as — said Mason, papers and all. Well, that is 
better than to have them found dead on my hands. 
That old fox was too much for us, Ann.^’ 

'' Pretty fuss you’ve got into,” was the reply. Make 
a nice talk — won’t it ? Hey ? Gittin’ out of the 
winder at the dead o’ night, sick young un, an’ all. 
Good ’nuff for ye ; ye needn’t ’ave got married.” 

It was your fault, Ann,” was the angry reply ; if 
you had minded your own business, I should have car- 
ried them off last night, and you know it. Now, there is 
no telling what will come.” 

Why, she’ll say ye insulted ’er, or threatened to 
kill ’er, or suthin’, pretty likely. I would if ye’d used 
me so.” Mr. Giles raised his hand as if about to strike ; 
he dropped it again, and strode off, saying, — 

“ That woman will be the ruin of me yet.” 

“Strike an’ ye dare,” was the mocking* reply. “I 
ain’t ’fraid on ye, if Lev was.” He turned in a terri- 
ble rage, and shook his fist defiantly at her. 

“ Ann Thropee, if you were a man,” he shouted, “ Pd 
beat you to death if you didn’t stop ! Curse you, and 
the laws too I ” The breakfast was eaten in silence. 
Mason scowled at Ann. Ann scowled back. When it 
was over, he said, — 

“ Well, I’ve got her promise to keep still, and if she 
don’t, why, she is a liar, like the rest of her sex.” 

“ ’Elp yerself if ye can,” said Ann. “W’at will ye 
do ’bout it, if she tells on’t — hey ? ” 

“Ann, hold your tongue — will you? I’ll — ” He 


THE DISCOVEEY. 


24T 


hurr.x^d from the room. Ann laughed mockingly, and 
screams'^d after him. 

Git another housekeeper, an^ ye will. I shan’t stay 
’ere.” 

Why, Mason,” said Mrs. Wiley, on being consulted, 
“ I should have thought you would have known better. 
What a talk this will make I Hester is on good terms 
with all the first families in the village. I am sure I 
don’t know why, but she is, though she has got her 
living nursing, and pretty likely sprang from some low 
family. The Lowells, and Leonards, and Trueman’s 
think everything of her. I am mortified. Envena is 
just getting acquainted with the Truemans. How could 
you be so thoughtless ? ” 

They ain’t no better ’n other folks,” said Ann, “ if 
you do creep arter um.” 

** About locking up things,” continued Mrs. Wiley, 
why, that depends upon circumstances. My husband 
never thought of such a thing. Why should he ? He 
knows I am capable of taking care of them. About 
Levie, I ain’t sure that you were wrong there. She 
hadn’t much judgment, I suppose ; she was brought up 
at school.” 

Mind ye don’t bring Veene up in the same way. 
She don’t git a cent o’ mine, if ye do. Leve’s good 
as you are, fur ’z I know.” 

Don’t worry, Ann ; Envena isn’t going to school 
always ; I mean she shall learn to work by and by. If 
she makes as good a housekeeper as you are, that will 
do — won’t it ? Did you say she got out of the win- 
dow in the night, and walked home with that sick child 
in her arms ? Don’t you suppose she called at Mr. 
Trueman’s on her way home ? ” 


248 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** ^Ow do I know ^ow she got there ? ** 

** Mason/’ said Mrs. Wiley, I tell you what I wour\ 
do. I would disinherit that child, and never let her have 
a cent of my property, unless they would let me manage 
hers. Why, it is monstrous to treat you so ; but 1 
wouldn’t lay it to heart. Venie will be a daughter to 
you — won’t you, Venie ? ” 

“ Yes, mother,” was the reply, as the girl arose, and 
put her arms around her uncle’s neck. It is too bad, 
uncle Mason ; but I will come and keep house for you, 
when I am old enough — can’t I, mother ? And aunt 
Ann can live with us ; then I shall be an heiress — 
shan’t I, uncle ? ” Mrs. Wiley was chagrined at the 
last remark. 

I see you are thinking of self, as usual,” said Mason, 
who had been a silent listener. ''You are like all the 
rest of them.” 

" You mean the Gileses, I s’pose,” said Ann, laugh- 
ing. " It’s my ’pinion the Loverings and Gileses are 
’bout alike.” 

" Come, don’t, Ann ; you know better,” said Mrs. Wiley. 

" Why, daughter, you shouldn’t have said a word 
about the property,” she said, sorrowfully, when they 
were alone. 

"I guess I shan’t go for anything else,” was the 
reply, " and Ann is a tedious old thing. If I thought 
I shouldn’t get hers, I’d just leave off trying to please 
her ; that’s all.” 

"0, you will get it, no doubt, if you are only cautious, 
and uncle’s too, unless he marries again. So be wise, 
my dear.” 

Mr. Giles didn’t feel very comfortable for several 


CONSCIENCE DISTURBED. 


249 


days. He expected every one he met to speak of 
those events about which he could not help thinking. 
He started at the sound of every carriage, looked for 
something unpleasant to take place, wished he could 
know where Hester was, and what she was saying about 
him, what she really did hear, and why she left as she 
did. Was she afraid of foul play ? 

“ Well, I don’t wonder at it,” he thought, “for I did 
show off, and no mistake ; and Ann is a real old Hot- 
tentot. If I could get Elevia back. I’d treat her better ; 
I declare I would. She wasn’t so selfish as other wo- 
men, I do believe. I’d give a dollar to know if she has 
heard about Unie ; but I dare not go there. So men 
generally don’t lock up provisions. I wish I’d known 
that before. It is all a sham about men being the head 
of the family, and I might as well come under petticoat 
government as other men. Elevia could manage as well 
as sister Wiley. Why not? She knows as much as 
two of her. Well, I guess I’ve gone the length of my 
cord, and got brought up without bettering myself. But 
if Hester Strong keeps her promise. I’ll believe in reli- 
gion, I declare I will.” He concluded to drive over 
to Mr. Trueman’s store, and see how he appeared. “ If 
he has heard anything, why, I shall know it. He is 
none of your hypocrites, if Wiley does call him so. And 
Hester would tell him before any one else out of the fam- 
ily, I am sure.” 

Mr. Trueman appeared just the same as ever; he was en- 
tirely ignorant of the unhappy affair. Mr, Giles felt better. 

“ I hear your wife is failing,” he said. “ I am sorry. 
She will never be able to go home again, Mr. Lovering 
tells me. It is sad.” 


250 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


I fear not/^ was the reply, spoken in a subdued 
manner. 

And your child is very sick, too — did you know it ? 
It was taken sick while on a visit to the doctor^s with 
Hester. She is sick, too.^^ 

“Is she? I hadn’t heard of it.” Mr. Giles was 
very much agitated. Mr. Trueman noticed it, and re- 
marked, — 

“ The baby, I hear, is better, and Hester, I hope, 
will be soon. I don’t know what we should, any of us, 
do without her. I have had great reason to honor and 
respect her, Mr. Giles, as well as j'-ourself.” Mr. True- 
man was called another way, much to Mr. Giles’ relief. 
He felt satisfied that Hester had kept her secret so far. 

“ But it will get out,” he mused. “There are those 
marks. I wish they were in — If the family keep still, 
why. I’ll believe in religion. I want to see Levie ; but 
I won’t go there unless she sends for me. If she should 
send, why, I will tell her I am sorry for some things. 
But she needn’t have felt so bad about it ; most' 
women wouldn’t. ’ But Mr. Giles did not know much 
about women ; had not had the best models to study. 


PASSING EVENTS. 


2&3 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Passing Events. — Scenes and Incidents. 

''We live among the dying, Jennie, said the doctor, 
as he seated himself wearily at the breakfast table. 

" Who is dead, my dear ? ” said his wife, as she 
ceased pouring his colfee, and looked anxiously in his 
face. 

" Mr. Pearsons and Patty Stearns ; she died at four 
this morning.^^ 

"Is it possible ? was the reply. "How did she 
seem in her last moments ? ” 

" Calmly and serenely happy. Poor old lady I she 
tried to doubt her acceptance with God, feared that her 
peace was insensibility, &c. ' I am such a sinner,^ she 

said often, ' have been so ungrateful, so fault-finding, 
that it don^t seem right for me to be so calm.^ You 
know she was very familiar with the Scriptures. Well, 
formerly she delighted to repeat those passages which 
speak of God as a judge, as offended with the wicked, 
&c. ; but recently she has repeated those which reveal the 
other side of the Divine nature, his mercy, his pity, and 
compassion. Her last moments were spent in repeating 
that beautiful psalm, ' The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall 
not want,^ word for word, slowly and emphatically, as 
was her custom when in health ; particularly when she 


252 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


came to the verse, ' Though I walk through the valley 
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art 
with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Won- 
derful, wonderful I ^ were her last words, as she passed 
from a world of suffering to her rest on high.^^ 

After a few moments’ silence, Hester, who was still 
something of an invalid, remarked, — 

Doctor, I am more and more impressed, the longer 
I live, with the responsibility of training children. Miss 
Patty’s faults were very much the result of early train- 
ing. It is a fearful responsibility to take in our own 
strength.’ 

0, if parents could realize their unfitness for such a 
work without religion,” said Jennie, “ how earnestly 
they would seek the Lord ! ” 

‘‘ Wallace was a great favorite with Miss Patty,” said 
the doctor ; “ she has willed him fifty dollars.” 

“ Why, has she ? ” said Hester. ‘‘ The dear child 
will be so pleased.” 

‘‘Yes,” said the doctor, smiling, “ he talks of going 
to college with it, and says it is all owing to your Chris- 
tian talk about the sugar, vinegar, &c. He concluded 
the poor old lady had received a very large portion of 
vinegar in her life, and thought he would use sugar pro- 
fusely, I suppose ; for I never saw a little fellow so 
intent on pleasing another as he was her, and he suc- 
ceeded, I think. She wanted him near her all the 
time.” 

Tears came into Hester’s eyes as she remarked, — 

“ He is a noble, generous child, but rather impulsive. 
I hope he will get an education and do well ; and I be- 
lieve he will. Your sister’s faith will be rewarded. I 


PASSING EVENTS. 


253 


feel sure of it. Those children will, every one of them, 
be a blessing and an honor to us.’^ 

“ I forgot to tell you that Mr. Gray brought his bride 
home last night, said the doctor. “ That is quite a 
pleasant affair ; she was an old acquaintance of many of 
the neighbors ; they had a reception. Mr. Gray was 
regretting that you couldn’t be there, Hester. He says 
you were a friend in need to him, and he is anxious that 
you should renew your acquaintance with Mrs. Gray.” 

I wasn’t much acquainted,” said Hester. I knew 
her. I am really glad for Mr. Gray and his family. 
Have you called there since the house was repaired and 
furnished ? ” 

“No, I have not ; I have noticed the improvement 
outside.” 

“ Well, it is greater inside,” was the reply ; “ and I 
heartily wish them much joy.” 

“How are the children pleased?” inquired Jennie. 
“ I should think they would be delighted.” 

“ I should,” said Hester; “and they are, all but 
Hattie. “ Poor child I she has imbibed that unreason- 
able prejudice against step-mothers, and insists upon 
going to the factory again. My creed is just this,” said 
Hester, earnestly — “ that if a woman is fit to be a mother, 
if she is a true, noble woman, she will make a good step- 
mother ; otherwise she will not. It is a difficult place 
to occupy, one which needs judgment and tact ; for if a 
woman has any faults, they will show off in that position 
like fireworks in a dark night. It is like putting a black 
patch on white groundwork.” 

“ Sometimes it is the reverse,” said the doctor, laugh- 
ing ; “it is like putting a white patch on a dark back- 


254 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


ground — isn^t it so ? For instance, when the little 
widow marries my father, which I see by a notice on the 
church door will happen before long.’^ 

** Is that so ? ’’ said both women. Isn^t it queer, 
when Elevia is so low ? ” 

“ I believe it was her wish that it should be so. She 
wants them married in her room, in the presence of all 
the children. It is an odd notion, but she must be grati- 
fied — that is, if she lives till the time arrives ; and I 
rather think she may linger some time longer : she 
may not live till then — we can’t tell. She is anxious 
to see you and baby, Hester. I told her I thought she 
could in a day or two. I fear the change in little Unie 
will distress her. I am glad there are some more teeth 
to lay it to ; I can’t help pitying Mason, after all. I met 
him to-day ; he seemed changed. He avoided me. Hes- 
ter, I wish you would tell me just what happened while 
you were there, and why you left in such a way.” 

“ Well, I can’t,” said Hester; ‘‘there isn’t much to it 
any way, only I got sick and nervous, and felt as if I 
couldn’t stay ; and I am glad I didn’t. What should I 
have done without some one to help take care of Unie 
for the last few days ? ” 

“Well, one thing is certain,” said Jennie: “he 
whipped that infant shamefully, for there are the marks.” 

“ I don’t deny that,” said Hester ; “ but it was before 
I arrived there. Men have no judgment about children, 
and never ought to whip a baby. But I pity Mason, 
myself. You know his father is the prince of tyrants, 
and his mother was the queen of martyrs. The children 
never knew that wives had any rights, only the right to 
minister to the wants of their families. The sisters were 


SCENES AND INCIDENTS. 


256 


all older, and left home when Mason was young, all ex- 
cept Ann, his half-sister.” 

“ Such boys are to be pitied,” said the doctor. 

Such men always get wives when they want them,” 
said Jennie. “ I don^t understand it.” 

Did you ever hear about his striking one of the chil- 
dren with his first wife^s coffin lid ? ” said Hester. 

No,” was the reply. 

“ Well, he did — you needn’t look so incredulous. 
The child remarked to another, * I’d rather see mother 
there than to see father abusing her,’ just as he entered 
the room. He seized the lid and struck the child, and 
would have injured it had not a neighbor come in. He 
was a man of most ungovernable passion.” 

** I should think so,” was the reply ; “ and yet he has 
had three wives. Perhaps Ann is to be pitied, too.” 

“ I suppose she is,” said Hester. How do Charles 
and Judith like the new arrangement ? ” 

0, pretty well, I should think. Judith is doing 
nicely now ; she is very kind to Elevia. Charles talks 
reasonably about it ; he has a kind heart ; and Winnie 
can scarcely contain herself, she is so pleased. I have 
one more item of news for you, and then I must go. 
Morgan has been to father’s and grandfather’s.” 

Why, you don’t say so ? ” said Jennie. And 
what did he want ? ” 

'' He was there yesterday, and wanted money. He 
says father has cheated him out of three thousand dol- 
lars, or so.” 

Hester groaned aloud. 

Don’t let it trouble you, aunt Hester.” 

** I can’t help it,” was the reply. I am getting 


256 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


weak. 0, dear, dear I what a mortification he is going 
to be to the children I He was ragged and dirty, I 
presume ? ” 

Yes, and saucy, too. Father got rid of him easily 
enough ; but Martha made a great mistake. 

What did she do ? said Hester, eagerly. 

“ 0, nothing, only hired him to go home ; gave him 
three dollars, and he stumbled into Mr. Trueman^s store, 
and called for rum. Mr. Trueman talked to him faith- 
fully for drinking ; and when he found out that he was 
Winnie^s fatlier, he tried to get him to his house, that he 
might labor with him. He couldnH, of course. He 
hurried over to Stillman’s, and got some, without doubt, 
in some form or other. That is the last I know of him. 
That store is a nuisance.” 

That is what we get for putting such a man in as 
agent to sell liquor,” said Hester. “ Our new law won’t 
amount to much. It is a shame ; any toper can get it 
of him. He likes it so well himself that he won’t deny 
others. Mr. Crafty is the man of his counsel. Edward, 
now I think of it ; how can you consistently give certifi- 
cates to such men as Crafty and others, when you know 
they use it as a beverage, and abuse their families ?” 

“ I don’t,” was the emphatic reply. I have given 
but two or three certificates since the law was passed. I 
have had numerous applications, made so dolefully many 
times, that I could scarcely help laughing outright. It 
has been exceedingly awkward, and really I think I shall 
lose some practice in that way, but not much that is pay- 
ing. Who started that story ? I should like to have 
Stillman show me one of the certificates with my name 
on it. I shall look into that matter. My name shan’t 
be used for a cloak in such dirty business.” 


SCENES AND INCIDENTS. 


251 


** I am glad to hear you say so/^ was the reply. “ I 
have been feeling grieved that you did not stand by Mr. 
Trueman. He felt it, too.^’ 

“ Why, I never thought of doing anything else. The 
law would have passed all the same ; but if he felt it his 
duty to advocate it, and sacrifice custom by doing it, 
why, I respect him for it. He will be the greatest loser 
in town for the present ; but eventually he will be the 
gainer. Next year he shall be agent, or I am mistaken. 
People will see by that time that we want a man we can 
trust. Wife, patronize him all you can.^^ 

Hester bowed her head, and remained silent. 

What did Winnie say to her father ? ’’ said Jennie. 

I don’t know ; but Mrs. Payson said she had a long 
cry after he left. But Sunshine went into a tempest 
right off when he called her his little girl. 

‘ I isn’t your ’ittle dirl ; I spects I’s auntie’s Sun- 
shine, I is. Go away, naughty man ; I isn’t your ’ittle 
dirl.’ He didn’t seem to realize that Fostina was his 
child at all.” 

I am thankful for that,” said Hester. I see that 
I must gird myself for another conflict. I thought, when 
I brought Unie home, that the last foe had been con- 
quered ; but I was mistaken, you see, for I am deter- 
mined that he shan’t torment those children. I must go 
home to-morrow ; perhaps I shall gain faster with the 
harness on. Martha, the dear girl, did a foolish thing 
when she gave him money. I shall have to fight all the 
harder. 0, well I ‘ As thy day, so shall thy strength 
be.’ ” 


258 


HESTEK STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

About Hester^s Call. — Winnie^s Talk, and Grandpa's 
Wedding. 

Hester called to see Elevia on her way home. She 
had not changed much, and seemed very happy. Provi- 
dentially, little Unie brightened up during their call. 

She will be better soon,'' said Hester ; she has 
two new teeth, the darling I " 

But the care of her is wearing you out, auntie," 
said the mother. “ Can't you get some one to help you ? 
You said you would. Lay her beside mamma. Darling, 
precious one I mamma's birdie I 0, how much your 
poor father is losing in not loving you better, little 
one I I want to save him. I wish his eyes could be 
opened. Hester, I think if I had been a Christian, 
trusting in Christ, I might have shown him his errors. 
Won't you try when I am gone ? I regret that he can- 
not have Unie. If Ann were like you, I should want 
her to go there, but he wouldn't be willing she should 
have the care of her, if I was. And I, 0, I couldnH 
leave the little thing with her, she is so soured 1 Ma- 
son didn't have much to improve him at home — did he, 
auntie ? He has a very low estimate of female char- 
acter. He respects you, though, and you might do him 
good." Hester remained quiet, thinking of what had 
passed during the last week or two, and rejoicing that 
Elevia was in blissful ignorance of it. 


ABOUT HESTER’S CALL. 


259 


** The Lord helping me, I will try,^’ was the low 
response. 

The dear Lord and Master reward you, Hester, she 
said, taking her broad palm in her own, so pale and thin. 
** The dear Lord reward and bless you for all your kind- 
ness to me and those dear to me. Come and see me as 
often as you can. Only for Unie, I should be selfish, 
and want you all the time I stay here.^^ Winnie fol- 
lowed her aunt from the room, and, as soon as they were 
alone, she said, — 

“ He has been here, auntie ; my father has been here. 
0, it is awful I He don’t look as he did. He wanted 
rum. He asked me to get him some ; said he was sick. 
I can never, never be happy any more I ” she cried. 
“ He will come again, some time, I am afraid.” 

I guess not, dear,” said Hester; “and if he does, 
will that destroy all your comfort ? Won’t Jesus re- 
main the same, dear ? Can’t you rejoice in him ? ” 

“ I could, if I didn’t rebel so. But when I don’t feel 
willing to have things as they are, and want my own 
way, I think Jesus is displeased and grieved, for he 
seems farther off, and I am so unhappy.” 

“ My dear child,” said Hester, “ ought you to be un- 
lappy all the time because God has taken away one tenth 
)f your earthly good ? He has left you nine tenths — 
3 ught you not to enjoy that?” 

“Yes, auntie, I know I should, and I will try,” 
sobbed the child. “ But isn’t my father a pretty large 
tenth, auntie ? It seems to me that a little girl with a 
good, kind father ought to be very happy all the time. 
Only think I He came with his old, every-day clothes 
on, and I guess aunt Abigail and grandmother don’t 


260 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


mend them, as mother did. And he talked so, right be* 
fore Mrs. Pay son ! and he says I am to go to the factory, 
and earn something for him, instead of working here for 
nothing. Mrs. Payson told him, ‘ For shame ! ^ to talk 
about a frail child like me supporting a great, stout 
man like him. She told him he ought to work and sup- 
port his children. He said he was sick, and looked ter- 
rible angry. But, auntie, I haven’t told you the w^orst,” 
said Winnie, going close to Hester. Uncle Charles 
gave him a glass of bitters, and there is a good lot of 
rum in them. He used to give him some when mamma 
was alive, and make her cry. And when she would 
ask father not to drink, he used to say he was no worse 
than the parson, and her father and brothers. That 
always made mamma cry, and she used to say she was 
sorry they drank, for it was bad to drink ever so little, 
for fear they might drink more some time ; and grandpa 
don’t now.” 

Uncle Frank and uncle Edward don’t drink a drop,” 
said Hester ; '' and I hope uncle Charles will leave off 
soon. It was wrong for him to give it to your father. 
Winnie, if I were you, I would ask him not to drink it, 
nor give your poor father any. Tell him what you have 
just told me about it. Perhaps you can help along the 
glorious cause of Temperance. You ought to be grate- 
fiil to God for sending Wallace where he will not be 
tempted in that direction. He has signed the pledge — 
did you know it ? ” 

‘‘No, auntie — has he? Can’t 1 sign? I want to. 
Then I can have a better chance to talk to others.” 

“ Why, yes, dear, you can sign the pledge. But auntie 
must go now. Don’t trouble your little head, darling, 


GRANDPA’S WEDDING. 


261 


about the factory. You are my little girl. I have got 
you all in black and white now. You are to go to 
school, if nothing prevents, and prepare yourself to 
teach, or be useful in some other way.^^ 

Mr. Lovering^s wedding took place in Elevia^s sick 
room, very quietly. It was a solemn occasion. Broth- 
ers and sisters stepped softly, ay, reverently, into the 
presence of one apparently so near the eternal gate. 
The ceremony was performed by the aged pastor, whose 
white locks fell gracefully back from his noble brow. 
His voice faltered as he said, “ What God hath joined 
together let not man put asunder,^^ for he remembered 
the past. It had been his privilege to unite both bride 
and bridegroom in their former marriages. He had also 
married several members of the family. He thought 
of Elevia’s joyous wedding festival. Only a few short 
years had passed, and what a change ! When it was 
all over, Mr. Lovering stepped to his daughter's bed- 
side, and said, — 

Are you tired, dear ? 

“Not much,^^ was the reply. “ May God bless you, 
my dear parents, and make you a blessing to each other 
and the world. Mrs. Lovering stooped and kissed the 
cheek of the sufferer. 

“ Raise me up, dear mother. I have something which 
I wish to say to you, while you are all together. 

* I am going home to heaven above : 

Will you go ? — will you go?*” 

She said, earnestly, looking from one to the other, 
“ 0, will you go ? She seemed to be waiting for a 
reply. 


262 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


I will try, I will try,’’ passed from one to the other, 
until all had promised. She smiled contentedly. 

‘‘ That promise is registered in the book on high,” 
said the aged pastor. 0, keep it, my dear friends ; 
keep it.” 

Yes,” said Elevia, ‘'I expect you to keep it, and 
God expects it. But those of you who are out of 
Christ, don’t wait until death calls you, or until earthly 
pleasures fade, and life grows dark ; but come to Jesus. 
Now is the accepted time. Don’t do as I did, — you 
know it all, — but come while in health and strength. 
Little Winnie, tell them what Jesus is to you.” 

“He is precious,” said the child, folding her hands, 
“ and very lovely.” 

“ Is he always near you ? ” said the aged pastor, 
placing his hand on her head. 

“ He never leaves me,” was the reply. “ Sometimes 
I wander away from him, and get lost ; but he never 
leaves me. He has said he wouldn’t ; don’t you re- 
member it ? ‘I will never leave nor forsake thee.’ ” 

“ How do you feel when you get lost, little pilgrim ? ” 
said the pastor, patting her tenderly on the head. 

“ 0, sorry and frightened ; and I just run back as fast 
as I can, saying, — 

‘ Jesus, Lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly.’ ” 

“ I trust you are, indeed, a lamb of his flock,” was the 
reply. “Should you like to confess Christ before the 
world ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I should, when I am good enough. I 
should like to tell the whole world how good he is, and 
what he has done for me.” 


GRANDPA’S WEDDING. 


263 


** I think we had better retire/^ said Mr. Lovering. 

I fear Levie is overdoing.^' 

One thing more, father, and then you may go. I 
want you all, every one of you, to forgive Mason. He 
does not know how he has wronged me. Forgive him, 
and try to bring him to Christ. 0, treat him kindly, 
and teach him the living way. To-morrow, when I am 
rested, I want to see him. You will not deny me ? 
she said, as she saw them look from one to another. 
This was a hard thing to ask of them ; but they could 
deny her nothing. “ Thank you,^' she said, as they 
promised. ‘ Blessed are the merciful, for they shall ob- 
tain mercy.’ If God can forgive us, for Christ’s sake, 
ought we not to forgive each other ? I have but one 
other duty to do, and then I am ready to go, if it be 
God’s will. Pray for me, dear brothers and sisters, that 
I may prevail, that my faith fail not. Dear pastor, pray 
for me and him. Good by.” 


264 


HESTEB STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Self-Oommunings. — The Still Small Voice. — Light in 
Darkness. 

How cheerless and dreary this house has become/’ 
sighed Mr. Giles, since Elevia left it I Why, it seems 
like a tomb. I wonder that I could ever have com- 
plained of her housekeeping. It was perfect, compared 
with Ann’s, and her food delicious — better than sister 
Wiley’s. I never thought of it till lately. If she had 
only submitted without arguing, as a woman ought, why, 
we should have been happy. Heigh-ho ! I wonder if I 
have been exacting. Mr. Lovering and the doctor said 
I had, and that no mortal man, in his senses, ought to 
expect a woman to put up with such tyranny and miserly 
meanness. Yes, those were their very words. They 
said I was a chip of the old block. How that cut me I 
For I confess father is a tyrant of the deepest dye to 
wife, children, and all. Poor Ann was his special aver- 
sion. Heigh-ho I I wonder if I haven’t copied him, 
after all ? Pshaw I I never struck Elevia. I’m not 
sure I shouldn’t, though, but for fear of the family. I 
have wanted to ; but Elevia always seemed so superior to 
other women, I mean Lucy, and Jane, and Ann. I know 
but little about females at large ; I never thought them 
worth much notice.” 

Thus thought Mason Giles as he walked his room late 


SELF-COMMUNINGS. 


265 


at night. His nights had been nearly sleepless since the 
one he remembered as ‘‘ the terrible night. He was 
striving to solve a serious problem — he was searching 
for the truth. The pale, beautiful face of his wife 
haunted him day and night, as she looked when she said, 
‘‘ I may have been a poor wife to you. Mason ; for- 
give me. I tried to please you.’^ Conscience echoed, 
‘‘ She did try to please you, with a devotion few wives 
could command.’^ He seemed struggling to throw off 
these unpleasant convictions ; but in vain. He trembled 
when he thought how nearly he had added the crime of 
murder to his other sins. Strangely enough, as he 
thought of little Unie, struggling in his arms, shrinking 
away, and screaming as if in great pain, his feelings 
softened towards her. 0, was it fear and grief, and not 
stubbornness ? as he had thought. Poor little thing ! 
he murmured, walking rapidly up and down the room. 

Such a baby I How could I handle her so roughly I 
I was mad with them, and spent my wrath on a helpless 
baby — my baby — bone of my bone and flesh of my 
flesh. Cowardly man ! I hate myself for it. 0, if I 
had killed her ! I felA as if I should like to do it. I 
thank God I was kept from dashing the little head on the 
floor. I fear I should if Hester hadn’t rescued her. I 
thought she was defying me, resisting my will. For the 
flrst time in my life, I do feel truly thankful to God. 
When Elevia spoke in that way, how angry I used to 
feel I I thought I was my own keeper ; I gloried in my 
own strength. ‘What had I that I did not get?’ I 
often inquired of her. ‘ Mason,’ she would say, ‘ God 
gives you the ability, the strength, and the opportunity 
to do everything. Without him you could do nothing.’ 


266 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


I think now she was right. 0 God/^ he groaned, 
’ ** what a miserable sinner I am, when I thought I was 
about right I Self-deceived and ruined for time and 
eternity ! 0, I dare not think of meeting God 1 And 
yet Elevia is as peaceful as a lamb, and really looks 
more cheerful than she has for a long time. Strange, 
strange ! I should be in an agony if I thought death 
was near.’^ 

He threw himself heedlessly on the unopened bed, and 
wept for the first time since a child. Then said he, 
resolutely, — 

'' What a fool I am I I am no worse than many others, 
I suppose. I wonder what there is in the chapter about 
‘ Wives, submit yourselves.' Hester wanted me to read 
it. She is a Christian, I declare, or she would have told 
of me. And what else but religion could induce her to 
spend her life taking care of other people's children — 
mine, for instance — and for nothing ? How that child 
loves her 1 How safe she felt in her arms I Why should 
she follow it, and walk, too ? That is the mystery. 
Yes, I do believe in religion. It is that which sustains 
Elevia now, that which makes Winnie so different from 
Envena. Yes, yes," he said, impatiently, it is that 
which makes them so different from me, wretch that I 
am. I might have been happy with my wife but for 
this hateful disposition of mine. But I have driven my 
wife and child away from me, if not killed them both ; 
and now my house is a tomb, and my soul a whited 
sepulchre. I am a ' hissing and a by-word.' 0 God, 
have mercy, have mercy I I can't bear this misery ; my 
sins have found me out, and they are enough to sink me 
down to hell." 


SELF-COMMUNINGS. 


267 


He shuddered, and, pressing his open palms close to 
his face, remained silent a moment. He then opened 
Elevia^s Bible, which he had never looked into before, 
and read, To my dear daughter Elevia, on her wed- 
ding day.^^ 

He then read the chapter named before, and found, to 
his great mortification, how far short he had come of 
doing his part in the marriage relation. He read on, 
turning from place to place, like a weary, discontented 
child. His eye fell upon the parable of the returning 
prodigal. ‘‘ That I can^t do,^’ he mused ; I can^t 
go to her. Haven’t I said I wouldn’t ? Haven’t I said 
it ? No, I won’t go near them ; I’ll fight it out alone. 
I have been a wicked, foolish man ; but I won’t own it 
to them. If Elevia’s mother were alive, I could confess 
it all to her. She was a saint, if there ever was one this 
side of heaven. I must sleep. Ann never will learn to 
make my tea weaker.” 

Thus this night also wore away ; but little sleep 
came to refresh Mr. Giles. It was the night after the 
wedding. Never had he known a more cheerless one. 
He arose looking so pale and haggard that Ann was 
moved to say, — 

Sick ? ” as he arose from a scarcely tasted break- 
fast. “ Why don’t ye eat suthin’, or fret, as ye did to 
Lev ? ’Fraid to — ain’t ye ? Ye needn’t be,” she con- 
tinued ; Fd rather ye’d fret than die.” 

“ Ann, let me alone — won’t you ? I ain’t sick,” 
was his only reply. 

'' Yes, Fll let ye alone, an’ yer work too, an’ ye like. 
I shan’t keep ’ouse for a ghost much longer,” muttered 
Ann. 


268 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Well, Ann, 3^011 keep still ; Til be all right soon. 
You make my tea too strong; I can’t sleep — that’s 
all.” He left the room without further delay. Misera- 
ble man ! ” he thought, as he tried to busy himself about 
the place. I can’t set myself to work. Why, I miss 
her. How neat she always looked, and the table, and 
the house ! But I didn’t know it. Well, the Scripture 
is true — ‘ His house shall be left desolate : ’ that is 
something like it, and it is true. I almost wish it was 
burned down. It reminds me so much of what I might 
have enjoyed. 0 God I it is gone, all gone ; hence- 
forth there is nothing but sorrow and darkness for me, 
and I deserve it all — all, and more, too,” he groaned. 
“ 0 , I wish I could see Elevia once more.” 

That was indeed a prayer, and it was heard and an- 
swered almost as soon as it was uttered. 

Let us return to grandpa Lovering’s, and see what has 
been transpiring there on this eventful night. 

When the company reached the parlor, Mrs. Lovering 
said, Mr. Lovejoy, stop and pray for her here. If the 
dear child could see her husband converted, why, it 
would almost save her life. I can’t bear to see her so 
distressed about him. That is the only thing which 
troubles her.” 

'' I will,” was the reply; ''and as she is wishing to 
see him to-morrow, I will make it a subject of special 
pleading that the desire of her heart may be granted.” 

Earnestly and tenderly the case was presented at the 
throne of grace, with an importunity which seemed to 
admit of no denial. Tears came to every eye. 

" I hope you will not depend upon my poor prayers,” 
said the pastor ; " but pray, as did the Master, all night. 


THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 


269 


If no answer of peace and promise come, pray till the 
morning. I feel the inspiration of prayer as I seldom do 
when no favorable answer is to be given. Lay hold on 
the mighty arm of God, my friends, wrestle as did Jacob 
of old, and God will bring it to pass. “ The joy of his 
salvation’^ might save your daughter. If I see aright, it 
is hope deferred, or wounded affection that has prostrated 
her. Am I right ? Could she see her husband clothed 
in Christas righteousness, a new creature in him, with 
affections purified and elevated, it would, perhaps, prove 
an elixir of life more potent than all your efforts to save 
her ; better for her than any remedy prepared by the 
most skilful practitioner, for ‘ a wounded spirit who can 
bear ? ^ 

“ She cannot recover,’^ was the united voice of father, 
brothers, and sisters ; but Winnie caught at the idea 
with the utmost tenacity. 

‘‘ It won’t do her any harm,” said Mrs. Lovering ; 
let us pray — all of us. If the blessed child can only 
see him converted, she will die easier ; that will be a 
comfort.” 

Winnie crept away to her little closet, and kneeling, 
said, tearfully, — 

‘‘Dearest Lord, I shall stay here until you tell me 
what you will do about uncle Mason, unless they call 
me. Blessed Spirit, help me, for I don’t know how to 
wrestle, nor ‘ lay hold by faith.’ Help me, for I want 
my uncle Mason converted. I want you to make him 
sorry, 0, so sorry, that he can’t help asking to be for- 
given, and then, dear God, forgive him. 0, do, do, 
Lord. Please to save him, and make auntie so happy 
that she will want to live ; and then make her well, so 


210 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


that little Unie can have her mother to love, for that is 
better, 0, so much better, than anything. 0, make her 
well, so that she can live in her nice new house, and be 
happy with uncle and all of us. Dear Lord, I donH know 
how to tell you what I want, but the blessed Holy Spirit 
knows all about it. He sees that I want my uncle Ma- 
son to come to Jesus and see, as that other blind man 
did. Auntie said, ^ 0 that he could see I ^ Make him 
see. Lord ; don^t let him go, but make him see and be- 
lieve in Jesus. 

Thus the child prayed on, weeping, and asking over 
and over again, until, weary, she paused in her prayer, 
saying, — 

“ I can’t say any more about it now, dear Jesus : 
won’t you see to him ? ” and dropped asleep. 

Mrs. Lovering looked into the child’s room, and found 
her there, still upon her knees — her head resting on the 
hard stool — her cheek still wet with tears. 

‘^The spirit was willing,” she said to Mr. Love ring, 
** but the flesh was weak. Just you come and see a sight 
you may never in your life see again.” 

The dear child has been wrestling,” said grandpa, 
as he raised her carefully in his arms and laid her on the 
bed. She roused a little, and murmured, “ Dear Jesus, 
don’t let him go.” 

‘‘ What if she has prevailed I ” said grandpa, looking 
at his wife. 

“ What if she has ? ” was the reply — why, we will 
thank the Lord, to be sure. But it can’t be ; it seems 
impossible that he should be converted.” 

“ Nothing is impossible with God ; otherwise I should 
think him given over,” said Mr. Lovering. “ But that 


THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 


2n 


child^s zeal for God shames me, Lizzie. She will far 
outstrip us in the Christian race, if we don^t wake up.’’ 

“I know it,” was the reply ; it is high time we were 
up and doing. And now, my dear, I want to tell you 
that I think one stumbling-block is taken out of the way, 
and we can run the race more swiftly. I mean the ban- 
ishment of all kinds of spirits as a beverage. Now, I 
think the blessed Holy Spirit don’t want to live in the 
same place with one of Satan’s engines of swift destruc- 
tion — don’t you think so ? I think the church ought 
to arise, and shake herself clear of that sin ; and she will 
have to before the gospel will run and be glorified.” 

“Yes, I think we have been blind in that regard — 
wilfully so, I fear. 1 am determined to clear my skirts 
of that sin ; but I am afraid I have waked up too late to 
save Charles. He thinks he can’t work without it.” 

“ I should think he saw a living epistle of thp effects 
of it when Morgan was here,” said Mrs. Lovering; 
“ how he has changed ! ” 

“ Yes, he was a noble fellow. It pains me to think 
how often he has taken a social glass with me,” said her 
husband. “ He has fallen low eriough, while I am saved. 
By the blessing of God I am what I am ; and by the 
same power I mean to be more consistent.” 

“ I am glad you feel so,” was the reply. “ I feel just 
so, too. But you must go to sleep, or you will be sick, 
as sure as can be.” 

“ Why, how came I in bed with my clothes on ? ” 
thought Winnie. “ I must have got up in my sleep, and 
put them on. I am glad I went to bed again, and didn’t 
get out of the window, or anything. I wonder if grand- 


272 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK, 


pa will let me go with him to tell uncle Mason. I almost 
love him now. I guess it won^t be so hard to love him 
as I thought it would. For her sake/^ she said, “ I must 
love him, and for Christ’s sake, forgive him ; that is it. 
Mrs. Payson — 0, no ! I forgot — grandmother, can I go 
with grandpa ? I want to tell uncle Mason something.” 

“ Yes, dear, I guess so. I’ll ask him. You look pale : 
are you well ? ” 

“ 0, yes, indeed ; I feel nicely : my heart is as light as 
can be. I guess He is going to save him, — uncle Mason 
I mean, — and perhaps auntie will live, after all. Do 
people ever get well when the doctor says they can’t, 
grandma ? I shall speak to you pretty often, now I can 
call you that,” she said, smiling brightly. 

'' Do ; I like to have you. I never had a grandchild 
of my own.” 

“ Well, you havh got some own children, and grand- 
children too, now — haven’t you, grandmother ? ” 

Well, I hope they will own me. And I am pretty 
sure folks get well, sometimes, when the doctors say they 
can’t, and die, too, when they say they won’t. 0, I 
know that too well,” she said, sadly. “ They said my 
Lizzie was in no danger, and my Lydia might get well ; 
but they died, both of them. And there was my Samuel ; 
he lay in a dying condition three days, with the fever ; 
but he got well, and is married, you know : so we can’t 
tell.” 

Winnie was allowed to accompany her grandfather, 
and found her uncle just as he had uttered the wish 
that was a prayer wrung from an awakened heart. 

Uncle Mason,” she said, running eagerly to his side, 
“ come ; auntie wants you. Grandpa and I have come 


THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 


273 


for you. He was married last night ; and we are all 
going to love you now : auntie made us promise. She 
said you didn^t mean to make her sick ; you didn’t know 
how she felt. 0, you are feeling badly ; well — I am 
glad — no, I mean I hope you will be better.” 

He had stood half bewildered while Winnie was talking. 

She wants me — she wants them to forgive me,” he 
mused. A little while since, and he would have been 
angry ; but now he is humbled. Winnie,” he said, as 
he sat upon a log, “ 1 do feel badly. I am a wretched 
man. Your aunt is going to die,” — he shuddered, — 

and I know, now, that I killed her ; yes, killed her 
slowly. You know how hard and unfeeling I was ; and 
when she felt badly, I thought she was foolish, and I was 
angry. I believe I was possessed. What do I care for 
that pile of fine buildings, now, child ? ” he said, fiercely. 

They were my gods. I thought your aunt ought to be 
happy in such a place. Now I have learned their value. 
I live here, but I am not happy, and never can be again.” 

He covered his face and groaned. Winnie felt fright- 
ened. 

'' 0, I didn’t want him to feel so dreadfully,” she 
thought. Dear Lord, help him to see the other side. 
0, do I ” Tears came into her eyes. '' I wish aunt Hes- 
ter was here,” she said. She would tell you about the 
goodness of God, and how you must go to him and con- 
fess your sins, and he would forgive you for Christ’s 
sake. I asked him, and he forgave my sins.” 

'' You, Winnie,” he said, '' you have sins ? What were 
they ? It wasn’t much to forgive your sins ; they were 
nothing compared with mine.” 

** 0, well, that don’t make a bit of difference ; we 

18 


274 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


can^t go to heaven without a new heart, and God can 
forgive a great sinner just as well as he can a little one. 
But I was a dreadful sinner, uncle. I didn^t love God, 
and I didn^t want to stay where he put me. 0, I was as 
bad as you. But my verse says, ‘ Though your sins be 
as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.^ I repented, 
and he forgave me all. He gave me peace when I be- 
lieved on his Son Jesus Christ ; and now I feel happy, 
almost always.^^ 

Mr. Giles had raised his head and listened. 

Winnie,” he said, “ do you think that I could be 
happy — even if my sins were forgiven — after I had 
killed my wife, and done so wickedly ? No, never ! 
You hadn’t much to forgive,” he said, almost savagely. 
“ I tell you my sins can’t be blotted out in a lifetime, 
no, nor through all eternity. Lost I lost I ” he cried, 
bitterly ; “ sold unto sin.” 

Winnie went close up to the unhappy man, her fear all 
gone, and laying her hand on his, she said, — 

Dear uncle Mason, ‘ whosoever believeth on the Lord 
Jesus Christ shall be saved.’ Why can’t you believe on 
him, when he is so very lovely, and he loves you so ? I 
will say that pretty hymn, — 

‘ Just as I am, without one plea, 

Save that thy blood was shed for me, 

And that thou bidd’st me come to thee, 

O Lamb of God I I come I I come ! ’ 

Can’t you say that, uncle Mason ? 0, it is so easy ! I 

want you to come to Jesus first, and then go to auntie. 
Perhaps she will live when she knows you love her ; and 
if you love Jesus, you will love everybody.” 


LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 


2*75 


** Where is he, child ? said the distressed man ; 
** where is he ? I can^t find him. He isnH for such 
as 1.^’ 

He is here,^^ said Winnie, reverently. He is here. 
Do you want him ? Come, say it after me — in your 
heart, — 

‘Just as I am, without one plea, 

Dear Lord, I give myself to thee. Amen.* 

Now, if you have said that truly, he will take you, and 
give you a new heart. But grandpa will think I am gone 
too long. Will you go to auntie now ? — she wants you.’’ 

I will come soon. Did you say she might live, if I 
loved her ? Tell her I am not fit to love her, but I do. 
0, if she can only be spared, I will love the Lord as long 
as I live, and trust him even until death.” 

“ Well,” said Winnie, I knew he would take you if 
you went to him. You are almost a Christian, so soon ; 
only you must love the Lord, and let him do just as he 
pleases. Aunt Hester says he knows what is best for 
us. The Psalm says, ^ Though he slay me, yet will I 
trust in him.’ Mother used to say that when she was 
sick. He did slay her, for it was best,” sobbed Winnie ; 
“ but she is in heaven, and don’t want to come back. 
Now try, uncle Mason — say the hymn, all of it — and 
pray and wrestle, just as the minister told us to for you, 
last night. And we did. The Holy Spirit will tell you 
what to ask for, and perhaps before you go to auntie you 
can come to Christ.” 

Grandpa, as he sat in his carriage, heard enough of the 
conversation to satisfy him that the Spirit had begun its 
work. He prayed mentally that it might be perfected. 
WJjgR Winnie returned, he asked no questions. 


276 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


He is coming pretty soon/^ she said ; ** but I do hope 
he will go to Jesus first, for he is feeling dreadfully, and 
he looks sick, too. Grandpa, I think he will be a Chris- 
tian.^^ 

Then they were praying for me last night,^^ mused 
Mr. Giles. ‘‘ That is religion — is it ? Well, it is a good 
thing. I wish I was a Christian — I do, I do. ‘ Just as 
I am ^ — 0, that is vile enough ; but there is all the more 
need of my going. ‘ Just as I am ’ — well, that is all 
the way I can go. I can^t forgive myself, nor cleanse 
my soul from guilt. ‘ Just as I am ^ — 0, I want to go, 
and I vrill, so help me God. 

* I can but perish if I go ; 

I am resolved to try ; 

For if I stay away, I know 
I must forever die.’ 

Yes, — 

‘ I’ll go to Jesus, though my sins 
Have like a mountain rose ; 

I know his courts. I’ll enter in 
Whatever may oppose.’ ” 

I 

He sang almost unconsciously as he entered the house to 
change his dress. Ann looked up in amazement, but said 
nothing. He had sometimes sung in the choir, but never 
before in the house ; and a psalm tune, too ! what could 
it mean ? 

“ Prostrate I’ll lie before his throne. 

And there my guilt confess ; 

I’ll tell him I’m a wretch undone. 

Without his sovereign grace.” 

** Crazy, I s^pose,^^ said Ann. Where are you goin^ ? 

“ No,'' said he, ‘‘I guess not ; I have been all my life. 


LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 


211 


Ann, I am going to be different. I want you to forgive 
me all my unkindness to you. Elevia has sent for me. 
Don^t look for me back till you see me.^^ 

“ Dyin’ — ain't she ? Is that w'at makes ye look so 
’appy all to once ? " 

‘'No, she isn't dying, and I have a hope that she is 
going to live ; and if she does, why, I am a happy man ; 
for if she dies, I have killed her," he said, in a low, 
solemn voice. “You know it, Ann, just as my father 
killed another good woman — I mean your mother and 
mine, Ann. And that isn't the worst thing that he did, 
for she was a Christian, and has gone to heaven ; but, 
Ann, I see it now ; he killed all the tenderness out of 
your soul, — or soured it, — and made a petty tyrant of 
me. You know it, Ann ; you were abused, but you fought 
it out and lived — you wouldn't bend. But, after all, if 
he had been your husband, it would have been harder — 
wouldn't it ? " 

Ann sat down as if overcome with sudden faintness. 

“ Don't bring it all up agin," she said, with a little 
quiver in her voice, “ don't ; " and she reached out her 
hand as if to put far away some dread object. “ I know 
it ; he killed 'er ; an' I swore I would never forgive 'im, 
an' I. 'oped God wouldn't. I never loved anything agin, 
an' I won't." 

“ That is it, Ann ; I see it now. I have been seeing 
it more and more, ever since that terrible night. Why, 
it seems to me I have been blind all my life. What a 
mercy that I didn't kill that child I " 

“I thought ye’d do it," was the reply ; “ but she'd 
been better off. I wish 'at somebody'd killed me when 
I was born — I do. I hain't seen nothin' but trouble, 


278 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


nor done nothin’ but grow wuss and wuss — an’ shan’t. 
Don’t say nothin’ to me ’bout forgiveness — I shan’t ask 
for it. I shan’t forgive yer father ; an’ I shan’t ask for 
nothin’ I won’t give,” she said, as Mason spoke of the 
goodness of God, and his willingness to forgive sins. 
He looked at her pityingly, as he said, — 

‘‘ I don’t wonder you can’t forgive him. I ought to 
have known better, and taken her part. She was a kind 
mother — wasn’t she, Ann ? I can’t forgive myself for 
not treating her more respectfully. I was young when 
she died — wasn’t I ? But I must go ; Elevia will be 
looking for me. Get Envena to come and stay with you, 
if I don’t get home. I want to watch with Elevia if they 
will let me.” 


BITTEB MEMORIES. 


279 


OHAPTER XXX. 

Bitter Memories. — Welcome News. — Love rewarded. 

— Elevia saved. 

Ann looked after Mason, in blank amazement, as he 
rode away, shading her eyes with her hand, and peering 
around the corner of the house, to make sure that he 
was really going to Mr. Lovering^s. Sunthin^s got 
into ^im,^^ she muttered ; ** goin' to die, likely as not. 
He was a pooty little feller, and mother sot ^er eyes by 
Mm. 0, Lordy, Lordy I I never meant to think on ^er 
agin — never.^' She swayed her body back and forth 
like a reed shaken in the wind, and moaned aloud, “ 0 
Lordy, she wanted me to promise to meet ^er in ^eaven I 
Well, I didnft ; I was cryin^ : she thought I couldnft 
speak. I ainft cried since, ^ardly, an^ never meant to 
agin. There, Pm a fool I she said, brushing a tear 
from her eye, spitefully. “ Ketch me cryin^ agin ; 
ftwonft bring ^er back, nor make me young an^ ^appy 
agin, nor take away this millstone out o’ my ’eart. I 
’ate Mm, an’ I mean to ’ate him — so there 1 ” She arose 
and busied herself about the house, struggling to over- 
come the feelings which Mason’s words and his altered 
manner had aroused ; I’ve fit it out so fur,” she 
thought ; “ IMl fight it all out. I never knuckled, an’ 
I won’t, to — to — ” She was about to say **to God 
nor man ; ” but the impious thought startled her. She 


280 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


cowered and trembled before the unseen awful presence 
for a moment, and then continued, Fll ^ave to knuckle 
before ^im, any ^ow ; but Til wait till I ^ave to/’ 

What has come over me ? ” said Mason Giles, as 
he rode along. I feel easy and calm. My sins don’t 
feel so heavy. Did I really go to Christ — did I ? And 
did he receive me — me, such an incorrigible sinner, so 
hateful in my own eyes and in the eyes of God and 
man ? Why, it can’t be possible ! Why, I only waited 
a moment at the door of mercy. I did go, I believe, 
with all my heart, and I cried one long, bitter cry, for I 
thought I should die. My sins seemed weighing me 
down, down to despair. Can it be that I had only to go 
to him and be healed ? Then blessed, thrice blessed, 
be the name of the Lord. I will praise him while I live, 
and trust him when I die. I didn’t deserve it — no, no ; 
it is all of grace — all of grace. Hester must know 
this, for she saved me from an awful crime. Dear little 
Unie, those cruel blows I gave you in my madness sank 
into my soul ! The image of Elevia, stretching out her 
little pale arms to me, saying, ‘ Forgive me. Mason ! ’ 
I tremble to think how hardened I was. It is nothing 
but grace, free grace, that has removed the burden of 
guilt.” He put the reins over his arm, took out his 
pocket-book, and removed the writing Hester had given 
him, and read it over and over again. “ It was Mason 
Giles that extorted that writing — was it ? I am 
ashamed and humiliated. What was I thinking of? 
Why, how much that sounds like a miserly heathen, as I 
was ! 0 God, break once and forever this chain of 

selfish avarice, which has bound me, hand and foot ! ” 

“ There is Mason Giles driving up to the door,” said 


WELCOME NEWS. 


281 


Martha, as she caught up the cradle in which little TJnie 
was sleeping, and bustled into grandpa’s room, and 
locked the door. 

What can he want?” said Hester to little Fostina 
— '' what can he want, darling? You and auntie will 
go and see — won’t we, darling ? ” 

Um,” said the little one, smiling. “ Artie Fossie, 
go see.” Hester did not wait for him to knock at the 
door, but met him at the gate. She was calm exter- 
nally ; but her heart beat, and her limbs trembled. 
She nodded ; but he reached out his hand cordially. 
Hester looked into his face, and felt more puzzled than 
ever as she reached out her reluctant hand. ‘‘You 
feel suspicious of me,” he said, in a broken voice. 
“ I should blame you if you did not. You ought not 
to trust me. How is little Unie ? I won’t ask to see 
her. But, Hester, 1 called to thank you for saving me 
from the crime of murder, and snatching my child from 
death. Here is that shameful paper I extorted from 
you. I don’t ask for the one I gave you. If you ever 
see the time when you can forgive and trust me, why, 
give it to me — not till then.” Hester sank down on a 
large stone by the gate, greatly agitated. As she did so, 
Martha, who was looking from the window, exclaimed, — 

“What now, father? What do you suppose he is 
saying ? Hester is all overcome. I wonder if Elevia is 
dead. Mason looks changed. I wish I knew what it 
all means.” 

“ Wait, child,” was his reply as he tottled to see for 
himself. Hester sat there, still bewildered. 

“I can’t understand it,” said she. “Mason, am I 
dreaming ? What is it ? What does all this mean ? ” 


282 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


It means that the Lord has been dealing with me ; 
it just seemed as if the Almighty hand had- been placed 
firmly upon me: I' could not shake it off. 0, Hester, 
it was a terrible conflict ; no one but God will ever know 
how awful ! 

What gave you relief? said Hester, as she arose 
and went close up to him. What changed you so. 
Mason ? 

“ Grace, free grace,^^ was the joyful reply. Little 
Winnie came with Mr. Lovering to tell me Eleyia wished 
to see me. She found me distressed beyond measure, 
and insisted upon my going to Christ. I can’t tell you 
what I felt or suffered in the few moments she was there. 
It seemed a long time to me. I know not how long it 
was. She seemed to compel me to go to the door of 
mercy just as I was. ^ Lord, have mercy on me I ’ I 
cried — ‘ on me, who am worse than the chief of sin- 
ners.’ He heard me, I hope, and saved me from despair. 
But I must go to Elevia. Forgive me, if you can. I 
don’t ask you to trust me.” He held out his hand. 
Hester took it, and said, “ Truly, goodness and mercy 
shall follow me all the days of my life, for mine eyes 
have seen the salvation of one who was lost. Welcome 
to my Father’s house — welcome. No longer feed on 
husks which the swine do eat, but feed on the bread of 
life. Mason, I have prayed for this, because I promised 
her I would ; but my prayers were faithless. I could 
not feel that they reached the throne. But God is good ; 
give all the glory to him. Break the news carefully to 
Elevia : great joy might kill her.” 

“ Is that so, Hester ? How ignorant I am I What 
shall I do ? ” He looked thoughtful and perplexed. 


LOVE REWARDED. 


283 


**1 don^t know how you will manage/^ was the reply. 

You must ask God to guide you : that you will have 
to do in all things. 

I will ask him/^ was the reverent reply. I will 
trust him. Pray for me while I am gone. I feel as if 
she were going to be spared. 

Poor man I sighed Hester ; he will be disap- 
pointed in that. This has come too late to save her 
life. Poor man I 

Is Saul also among the prophets ? said Martha, 
when Hester had relieved her mind by telling her what 
the reader already knows. 

*'Yes,^^ said Hester, with tears of gratitude in her 
eyes, “ and the scales have fallen from the eyes of Saul 
the persecutor. Martha, I thank God that Paul left his 
experience for our encouragement. It helps me to be- 
lieve in Mason’s conversion. I feel rebuked for my want 
of faith. Why, I didn’t believe the grace of God, even, 
could change that man so I I want you to see him, he 
looks so different. 0, it is wonderful I I have faith in 
his conversion. God grant he may not be deceived, and 
deceiving us I ” 

Well, if Mason is really a Christian, and holds out 
to the end, I will never be so faithless again,” said 
Martha. “ I thought he, at least, was given over. I 
never could pray for his conversion.” 

‘‘ Child,” said grandpa, hasn’t he promised to save 
dll that come unto him, even to the uttermost? Don’t 
oe so faithless, Martha. Nothing is too hard for God.” 
When Winnie, in her simple, child-like way, had told her 
grandmother all she knew about uncle Mason, the little 
woman was all astir with expectation. 


284 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Why/^ said she, ''I donH believe it — no, I don^t 
mean that, Winnie ; but it doesn^t seem possible I What 
will Elevia say ? Dear child, she isn’t expecting it — is 
she ? Won’t it kill her if it comes all at once ? What 
shall I do ? I wish Hester was here.” 

God is here, and Jesus is here,” said Winnie, tim- 
idly. ^'Why don’t you ask him, grandma?” 

I will, this blessed moment. If his coming to life 
should kill her, it would be sad enough. You say he 
prayed that she might live ? ” 

Yes, I called it a prayer. He didn’t kneel or say 

* Amen ; ’ but he folded his hands tight, so, and said, 

* 0, if God will only spare her, I will love him as long 
as I live, and trust him when I die I ’ He said it like an 
earnest prayer, grandma.” 

" Well, child, I think it was: for prayer is desire, 
spoken or unexpressed.” Mrs. Lovering came back 
soon, saying, Why, child, he told me what to do al- 
most before I asked him. Run, child — no, don’t run ; 
but go quietly, and tell her he is feeling badly about 
his sins, and says he is going to do better. Tell it a 
little at a time, dear ; be careful.” 

" Yes, I will,” said Winnie, as she went with her little 
heart fluttering like a caged bird. " Grandpa and I have 
been for uncle Mason, auntie,” said she ; he is coming 
pretty soon.” 

" Is he ? ” said the sick one, languidly. " Winnie, did 
you know I had given him all up ? The distress is all 
gone. I heard you pray last night, dear, in your little 
closet, right at my head. 0, so earnestly ! My heart 
went out with every word I could hear at first. Then 
came a strange, sweet peace, as if your prayer was 
really answered.” 


LOVE REWARDED. 


285 


“ Did you hear me, auntie ? Why, I did not think 
you could. Have you always heard ? I thought no 
one but God heard me in there. Winnie seemed dis- 
concerted. 

It was all right, dear. I thank you for that prayer, 
although I could not hear it all. I knew that you were 
praying for poor Mason, and it lifted the burden from 
my soul.^^ Winnie remained silent a while, and then 
said, — 

“ Uncle is sorry he has been so wicked. He loves 
you, auntie, and wants you to get well. I think he is 
seeking Christ. Elevia had raised her head from the 
pillow as if fearful that she should not hear every word. 

Say it again, little comforter, say it again. 

I think he is seeking Christ, and will find him. 
But you must lie down and be very quiet, or you can't 
see uncle when he comes." 

“ Seeking Christ," said Elevia — “wants me to live. 
Winnie, don't deceive me. I know you don't mean to ; 
but if it is true, can I — can I — bear to die?" She 
pressed her hands tightly over her face. “ 0 Lord, 
could I say it, then ? Could I say, ‘ Thy will be 
done'?" 

“ Yes, auntie," said Winnie, hurriedly, “ I think you 
could. He could help you say it, if he wanted you to 
go ; but perhaps he will let you live. Grandma says she 
has known people to get well when every one thought 
they were going to die." 

“ Well," said Elevia, “ I will try to trust him. He 
doeth all things well. All is well. I will lie here and 
wait, and see what the Lord will do for me and mine. 
And. Winnie, couldn't you just pray here, a little 


286 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


prayer, that I might endure to the end ? 0, do ! Pray 

that I may have peace and strength. Winnie prayed ; 
the words were few and broken, but they brought rest to 
the excited invalid. “ I can bear it now,^^ said she, 
looking up with a smile. 

“ Shall I go out when uncle comes ? said Winnie. 

Yes, dear, I think you had better. But don^t go 
farther than your closet, Winnie. If I want you, I will 
speak. Mrs. Lovering fluttered about like a bird in a 
plum tree, when Mr. Giles drove up to the door. She 
looked through the blinds, and tried to read his face. 
It was sad, very, and pale, and his step, she thought, 
faltered. She pitied him. 

He must be thinking of all those wicked actions, 
she thought, as she met him at the door, and held out 
her hand. He shook it cordially, but seemed agitated. 

“ I will show you right up to Elevia’s room,^^ she said, 
“if you can be calm. I guess you can. You won^t 
have to say much, for Winnie has prepared her for it all. 
Mr. Giles, I am so glad you feel different ! it will be such 
a comfort 1 We are all glad. Go in, and if she wants 
me, speak right at the head of the stairs.^’ 

“ Will she bear it ? said he, speaking low and fast. 

“ 0, yes, I think so ; only be calm.^^ They looked 
into each other’s faces for a moment, when Elevia, again 
reaching out her arms, exclaimed, — 

“ Dear Mason, I am so glad, so glad I He took the 
pale, cold hands in his, as he whispered, — 

“ Elevia, my wife, my poor, poor wife, forgive me. 
Gan you forgive me ? I have seen my sip and folly. 
He folded his arms about her, and wept., “ I shall kill 
you, after all,” he said, raising his head, and looking at 
her, wondering that she was so very, very still. 


ELEVIA SAVED. 


287 


No, Mason ; I am happy — too happy to speak. Can 
it be, can it be, that you love me ? I thought I should 
be willing to die if you would only love me ; but now it 
would be sweet to live,’^ she said, clasping her arms 
about his neck. ‘‘ 0 God, help me to still say, ‘ Thy 
will be done ! ^ 

“ Hush ! you are not to die. God will spare you. 
I feel it ; I have felt it ever since I cried for mercy and 
was heard. You will live to let me atone for the past, 
to win back the confidence I have forfeited. You will 
live to help me conquer the evil demon that has pos- 
sessed me, to bless your father, and take care of our 
baby.^^ He used to call it hers. She looked up into his 
face tearfully, and said, Mason, I fear this cannot be. 
See how emaciated I am — see.^^ 

Yes, I see,^’ said he, taking the thin hand in his. 

Elevia, I think these little emaciated arms helped to 
convict me, when you reached them out to me, and said, 
^ Mason, forgive me.’ Ah, Elevia, I was lost I but I 
trust, by the grace of God, I am found I I shall nurse 
you day and night ; you shall have everything that 
money can buy — anything. For, since I really believed 
I must lose you, I have felt that life is nothing without 
you.” 

** But, Mason,” she said, “ I shall be nothing but a 
baby, worse than ever, for a long time ; it will wear you 
all out.” 

I think not, Elevia. I know I shall be clumsy and 
awkward ; but I feel as if I just wanted you to be a 
baby, and let me tend you. I used to want to when we 
were first married ; but I thought it would be weak and 
foolish. That was the way I felt about Unie ; but I 


288 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


thought it would be silly and womanish to love her, and 
I stifled it all, Levie. I stifled it all until I really 
thought I disliked her, and you, too. 0, but for your 
sickness I should have gone on from bad to worse ! But 
I am talking too much.^^ 

“ No, no,’^ she said ; “ go on. It makes me feel stronger 
to see you. Can^t you just take me in your arms a 
moment 1 Call mother.^’ Mr. Giles started. 

“ Why, you don^t call her that — do you ? 

“Yes, I call her mother. She likes to have me, and 
I like to. It pleases father. He has been a good father 
to me. Mason, can^t you love him for my sake ? If you 
would only call him father, it would help to unite you.^^ 

“ I will,^’ was the reply. Mrs. Lovering came at the 
first call. She looked eagerly at the sick one. She was 
no worse — that was plain ; and something in her face 
made her think, ‘ She is saved.’ Together they raised 
the invalid, and placed her in the arms of the husband. 
She lay there contentedly, as a weary child in its mother’s 
bosom. Winnie slept that night — grandpa, grandma, 
aunt Judith — all slept, leaving the sick one with the re- 
pentant husband, who, if awkward, was very tender, and 
quite acceptable to the invalid. 


•IliE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


289 


OHAPTER XXXI. 

The Day op Miracles, or Mr. Giles and Mr Lover- 
IN6 MADE Friends. 

J^OT Herod and Pilate, but Mr. Lovermg and Mr. 
Giles, “ were made friends that day,’’ as Mr. Giles con- 
fessed his faults, and told him of his new hopes, and of 
his determination to lead a different life. 

'' I shall stumble often,” he said, humbly ; ''but with 
Christ for my Saviour, and Levie for my helper, I think 
I shall be able to overcome at last. Father, — if you will 
let me call you so, — I have enjoyed more in these few 
days, which have been spent in my wife’s sick room, 
than ever before in my life. But I have some terribly 
stubborn enemies to overcome — I mean selfishness and 
avarice. These are a part of myself. Other sins have 
sprung from these false, deceitful roots. Shall I ever 
overcome them ? ” he said, sadly. 

" The grace of God is sufficient for all our necessities, 
my son,” said Mr. Lovering, taking him warmly by the 
hand. " I thank my God that you are hoping in his 
mercy, and, as I hope and believe, are a regenerated, 
changed man. But regeneration is not sanctification. 
You have a conflict before you, a race to run, a victory 
to obtain. Look to Jesus, my son. He is the Author 
and Finisher of our faith. Look to Jesus, and go forward ; 
seek, and you shall obtain help in every time of trouble. 
19 


290 


HESTER STRONG’S ITFB WORK. 


But there is one thing I wish to caution you against. 
Don’t spend your time in vain regrets for the past. Im- 
prove and enjoy the present ; so shall you be prepared 
for the future in this life and that which is to come. God 
bless you, and help us both to be wiser and better men. 
I scarcely realize that Elevia, the dear child, is to be 
given back to us. Let us not be too sanguine ; it may 
not be, after all.” 

" Why,” said Mr. Giles, “brother Edward (it was the 
first time he had called him ' brother ’ ) thinks she may. 
Don’t you see, she is stronger, takes more nourishment, 
and sleeps better ? ” 

“ That is favorable,” said the father — “ all favorable. 
But consumption is so deceptive, and I have so entirely 
given her up ! ” 

“ That is it,” said Mr. Giles, earnestly ; “ you saw 
how low she was, and gave her up, long before I thought 
she was much sick ; that makes the difference. To be 
sure, she does look poorer and paler for a day or two ; 
but Edward says that is not bad. Come, you must not 
be as loath to believe her better as I was to believe her 
sick. How you must have despised me ! ” 

“ And you must not so constantly refer to the past,” 
said Mr. Lovering. “ Forget it as much as possible. I 
believe you have seen your mistakes, and are trying to 
rectify them ; so don’t dwell upon them.” 

“ That is what Elevia tells me,” was the reply. “ But 
you must let me look into the old volume a little, until I 
am confirmed in the faith, and established in the new 
life.” Mrs. Lovering smiled as Mr. Giles returned from 
a foraging expedition, with raisins, figs, dates, and wine, 
and dolefully exclaimed, — 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


291 


** The very things I wanted most for her are not to be 
had — grapes and peaches. I told Mr. Trueman to get 
them for her at any price. Edward says there is noth- 
ing so good for her. It is too bad ! ’’ 

0, well/^ was the reply, “ he will get them for her 

in a day or two. But why don^t you ride over to T , 

and get some of my son ? He has a hot-house. He 
wrote me some time ago that he should have grapes 
from then until Christmas ; and as likely as not he has 
early peaches. 

Why, I never thought of it I I’ll ride over ; I can 
get back before night.” He went into the sick room, 
noisily, to be sure ; he was not used to it ; but he went 
lovingly, and it was no matter. His step was like music 
to the sick one, and his love was the very elixir needed 
to send the life-blood coursing through the veins, slowly, 
at first, but surely, until the wasted energies were re- 
stored sufficiently to take a firmer stand. 

I make you a sight of trouble,” she said, as he took 
leave of her ; but I shall be better by and by. I think 
the grapes will help me.” 

Don’t think of the trouble,” he said ; ‘Mf I can get 
you well, it is enough ; ” and he kissed her good by. 
“ I wonder if I am really the same man,” he thought as 
he rode along, mind and heart full of gratitude. I 
wonder if I am Mason Giles, who always thought these 
little attentions and affectionate ways foolish and child- 
ish, especially to wives. 0, father, would that I could 
show you your sin and folly ! But I cannot ; nothing 
but the power of God can show you how much you are 
losing, how much suffering you are bringing upon others, 
how much injury you are doing. I can pray for you ; 


292 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


that is all ; for I verily believe you would knock me 
down, or throw the first thing you could lay your hand 
on at me, if I should speak to you about it ever so kind- 
ly. Well, I wouldn’t go back to the old life for the 
whole world ; for I have never been happy in it, and I 
think that very unhappiness, that dissatisfied feeling, 
which I have always had, has caused most of my fretting 
at Elevia. Dear child, I wonder she can confide in me 
so soon. How I have made her suffer ! I can’t help 
thinking it over, unpleasant as it is. I suppose these 
sad reflections are the legitimate fruits of my sin, just 
as much as peace and joy are the fruits of righteousness. 
How the old burden comes back again ! Father Lover- 
ing is right. I must ^ pray without ceasing.’ But I sup- 
pose I had better not look back too much, but ‘ press 
forward.’ ” 

Is this the day of miracles ? ” said Hester, as she 
called to see for herself, or am I dreaming ? Elevia is 
certainly better — a little better. How satisfied she 
looks ! ” 

Yes,” said Mrs. Lovering, I see it. I think she 
will live. But she will be months getting up, blessed 
lamb ! But that don’t puzzle me half so much as the 
change in Mason. Just you look here now. See all 
these figs, and raisins, and things. What shall I do 
with them ? ” 

That is just like a man not used to sickness,” said 
Hester, laughing. And then we poor mortals always 
go from one extreme to the other. We swing back and 
forth like a pendulum when you strike it a smart rap, 
until, after a while, it swings about right. But I don’t 
know what to think.” She was silent a short time. 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


293 


** Lizzie, love is a powerful agent. It kills sometimes, 
she said, with a strange smile ; “ it kills. And now we 
see that it makes alive ; that is, if Elevia lives, it will. 
Nothing else could have saved her. 0, what a wonder- 
ful gift it is, but dangerous, if used carelessly or thought- 
lessly. Lizzie, you remember Horace.’^ She waited for 
no reply, but went on. “ If I could have known of 
Mehitable Sharp’s perfidy in season — ” She buried her 
face in her hands for a moment, while her whole frame 
shook with emotion. Mrs. Lovering sat motionless, 
wondering if Hester’s affection had been so strong as to 
outlive all these years. “ Why, I supposed she had got 
over it, she is always so cheerful,” she thought. Hes- 
ter raised her head soon, saying, with another of those 
strange, sad smiles, — 

Lizzie, if I had known, I might have saved him. 
Religion saved me. There, don’t speak of this. I came 
to rejoice with you all, and not to weep for myself ; that 
is the best medicine for a wounded spirit. I must not 
stop to weep or repine, but do with my might what my 
hands find to do, that I may be all ready when the 
Master calls.” 

That woman deserves to be hung,” said Mrs. Lover- 
ing, impulsively, to make you suffer all this time I 
■VV"hy, I — well, I know I am not as good as you are, I 
couldn’t forgive her, nor do as you have done.” 

By the grace of God, I am what I am,” was the 
low reply. “ I do not hate her ; but as, day by day, I 
draw nearer to eternity, nearer to God and Horace, I pity 
her. May God have mercy on her. How can she dare 
to meet the judgment, with her sins like a millstone 
about her neck ? ” Winnie was delighted to see aunt 


294 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Hester, she was so happy ! Uncle Mason and aunt Elevia 
were saved ; she felt sure of it. “ And now,^^ she said, 
“there is but one great burden left — my father,'*^ she 
whispered. “ But I don^t try to carry it alone ; it is 
too heavy. I have given it to Jesus, and he carries it 
most all the time now.’’ 

“ That is right, dear,” said Hester; “I am glad for 
you. But you are looking pale, and must come home 
and play and romp with the children, or you will get 
sick.” 

“ But, auntie,” was the quick reply, “ do Christians 
play ? I am a Christian, I hope.” 

“ I hope so, dear ; but you are a child also. Play, 
amusement, recreation of the right kind, is not sinful. 
Children should play, and run, and rejoice in their youth. 
You know there is a time for all things, Winnie, and 
whatsoever we do we should do for the glory of God.” 

“ How can I glorify him playing ? ” said the child, 
with a puzzled look. 

“ 0, you can strengthen your body, which is his, pre- 
serve your health, and make those about you happy. 
The little lambs and kittens play, and praise God in that 
way as well as they can. Do you understand ? ” 

“Yes, I think I do ; but I don’t feel much like play- 
ing now. I had rather praise him by praying.” 

“ Well, dear, pray till you feel like playing, then.” 
Hester saw that the child was suffering from her con- 
finement to the sick room, and was sadly needing rest. 
She was becoming morbidly sensitive. Her childhood 
had been crushed, cruelly crushed. “ I must find some 
way to take her home,” she said to Martha, “ or she 
will be sick.” 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


295 


** I know it/^ said Martha, thoughtfully. Suppose 
I go over and stay to help them, and let Winnie come 
home a while. Playing with the children will be just the 
thing for her.^^ 

“ That will do,^^ said Hester ; ‘‘ but we must let her 
stay a day or two longer, until Elevia takes a fair start 
in the way to health. It will be a long road, poor 
child I 

How funny it seems to have you feeding me I said 
Elevia, as she looked up in her husband^s face with a 
smile. Those grapes are very nice, but it does seem 
to me they taste better from your hand. It is so strange 
and pleasant ! 0, how glad I am I can live some 
longer ! How happy we* shall be, now that we know 
how to live ! ” A tear came into the husband's eye as 
he looked into the pale, thin, but happy face, and thought 
of the past. 

“ I hope you will not be sorry that I live," said Elevia, 
as she saw the sad expression. 

“ Don't speak in that way — don't, if you love me. 
What would life be without you ? I was thinking of the 
change in you since I took you from your home, so full 
of life and joy, and how I brought you back broken- 
hearted, suffering, almost dying, and left you so coldly, 
without dreaming I — " 

“0, Mason," was the tearful reply, as she laid her 
hand pleadingly over his mouth, dear Mason, don't 
look back — look forward. It is all over now. You^ 
didn't understand me — how could you ? I was to blame, 
too." 

I don't know how or when you were to blame — 
though I blamed you then. But this subject pains you ; 


296 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


we will drop it. Take another grape, while I say, once 
for all time, I thank you, Elevia, for not submitting to 
my unreasonableness. I should have been as great a 
tyrant as father, if you had. I should never have been 
happy, nor let my family be happy. Under God you 
have saved me. I shudder to think of the yoke I have 
escaped ; so let us thank God and take courage. But 
don’t expect me to be perfect — will you ? I am so dif- 
ferent from you and your family I That was why I didn’t 
like them — did you know it ? They were a standing 
rebuke to me ; but now they shall be my example.” 

Let Christ be our Example, our Leader, the Captain of 
our salvation, my dear husband,” was the fervent reply. 
** I long to be well and strong'again, so that I can realize 
the dream of my girlhood, in my own house, with my 
own dear husband. I long to show you what a good little 
wife I shall be, now that I have you to love and lean 
upon. How happy we shall be with little Unie I 0, you 
will love her so, now that you don’t shut your heart 
against her I You will have a family altar — won’t you, 
Mason ? How pleasant our home will be ! Our friends 
will love to visit us. Won’t it be delightful ? ” 

It will,” was the abstracted reply. He was wonder- 
ing how such a sinner as he had been should ever erect 
an altar of praise in his house. What would father say ? 
What would brother Wiley and Ann say ? His heart 
failed him. There was a cross. Should he be able to 
take it up ? He noticed the sad eyes of his wife upon 
him, and told her of what he had been thinking. 

It will be a cross,” was the reply ; “ but Hester says 
we must never go round a cross, or step over it, but 
stoop to take it up, and we shall find it easy, blessecf 
work to carry it. So cheer up.” 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


291 


He thought a moment, and then said, hesitatingly, — 
There will be a cross for you, Levie, when you get 
home. Can you bear it, think ? ” 

“ Perhaps so : what is it ? I can’t bear much now. 
I see every little thing depresses me, even a sober look 
on your face. I am so childish, I wonder you all bear 
with me so patiently.” 

“ I wonder,” said Mason, “ that you are not more 
childish. About the cross : I have been thinking over 
Ann’s past life, and I pity her. She was only a little 
thing when she came to father’s. What a place for a 
fatherless child to come to ! She was looked upon as an 
intruder. I was taught to think so. No one loved her 
but mother ; and she loved mother with a passion you 
would not think her capable of feeling. I remember how 
she wept and sobbed when mother died. Father sternly 
sent her from the room, saying, she was ‘ enough to raise 
the dead.’ I shall never forget her look as she turned 
and said, ' Only that you would abuse her so, I would cry 
until I did wake her up.’ He sprang after her with his 
hand upraised. She darted like a bewildered spirit from 
the room, exclaiming, ‘ I’m glad, I’m glad she is dead 
— now you can’t beat her any more.’ Father muttered 
a low curse, and left the room.” 

“ It was a terrible scene over the dead,” said Elevia — 
wasn’t it ? Why didn’t she leave the family ? ” 
‘‘Strangely enough,” was the reply, “all the prop- 
erty belonging to her own father was entirely in my 
father’s hands during his life. How it came so I never 
knew. He would never come to any settlement, nor give 
her anything. Said she might stay there as she had done, 
if she would behave, which meant that she must be a 
slave.” 


298 


HESTEE STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


Poor Ann I murmured Elevia ; ‘‘ what a life to 
lead.’^ 

Yes ; you may well say that. From that day a war- 
fare has been waging between them. Both have fought 
with a zeal worthy of a better cause ; neither is con- 
quered. Father can’t send her off empty, and she won’t 
go without what belongs to her. And now, as I remem- 
ber my mother’s dying words to me, boy that 1 was, I 
want to do something for her, if you consent.” 

What were they ? ” said Elevia, eagerly. 

‘‘ ‘ Mason, take care of Ann when you are old enough. 
You will see how it is,’ she whispered ; ‘ take care of 
her. You are all she will have left, and she loves you. 
She is a good girl.’ My father entered ; I heard her 
saying something to him about Ann and the property. 
He grew angry, and I left the room. Yes, Elevia, I left 
the room, bewildered, to be sure, for I loved my mother, 
but, strangely enough, with the feeling that she had said 
something wrong to father ; for I thought no one ought 
to gainsay or withstand him, and this my poor mother had 
taught me. But I shall tire you all out. I will tell you 
the rest some other time.” 

No, no ; tell me all now. What can you do for 
Ann ? I can’t rest till I know.” 

Why, I want her to have rooms in our house, and 
live in peace the rest of her life, if you consent. I know 
how unpleasant it will be for you, and you must count 
the cost.” 

Mason, Mason,” was the quick, nervous call, ‘‘ do 
you know what you ask of me ? Could we be happy 
with her there ? Wouldn’t TJnie be like her ? 0, 1 wish 

I knew I ” 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


299 


** There, there, said Mr. Giles, alarmed at the excite- 
ment he had caused ; “be quiet, Elevia. You shan’t have 
her around unless you are willing. I ought not to have 
spoken of it now.” 

“ Willing ? 0, I am willing that you should do right. 

I am ; yes, I hope I am. Poor Ann I poor Mason ! I am 
so selfish ! ” She wept hysterically. “ 0, Mason, you 
must do right — don’t mind me.” 

“ 0, dear,” thought Mr. Giles, “ I have made a fool- 
ish blunder now. I wonder if I can ever understand 
women and children, and sick folks. Elevia,” he whis- 
pered close to her ear, “ Elevia, don’t cry ; you shall 
have it all your own way. I am sorry I — ” 

“ Well, you needn’t be,” was the gentle reply ; “ you 
ought to speak about it. I am sorry I am so selfish. I 
shall get over it ; and when I am stronger, I shan’t give 
way to my feelings so. I promise you that, if you will 
put up with it till then.” She looked inquiringly into 
his face. “ Will you ?” 

He stooped and kissed her, saying, — 

“ Yes, indeed ; and when you are stronger, perhaps 
you will stoop to take the cross, and find it lighter than 
you think. If not, I shall put it out of your way.” 

“ No, you shan’t,” she said, smiling through her tears ; 
“ that won’t do. If God don’t remove it, I shall take it 
up. Ann shall stay if he wills it so. But I am wasting 
precious strength. Kiss me again, and then soothe my 
head so that I can sleep. I am very tired.” 

Mrs. Lovering’s predictions proved true about Elevia’s 
recovery. She had relapses and break-downs ; but health 
at last rewarded those who had so carefully watched over 
her. Mr. Giles, in his turn, went back and forth, spend- 


300 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


ing all the time he could with his wife. Ann muttered, 
sighed, and scolded in turn. 

Ye’ll go to the poor ’ouse, all on ye, yet, likely’s 
not. I can’t ’elp it. I work ’ard ’nuff.” 

0, no, we shan’t, Ann,” said Mr. Giles. I am 
pretty well off yet ; and Elevia is getting well. She’ll 
be home by and by, and then we want you to keep house 
in the west room. You’ll be company for us, and can 
come and go when you please.” 

“ Do’no ’bout that ; w’ere’s the money cornin’ from ? ” 

‘‘ 0, it shan’t cost you anything for rent, or wood, or 
milk, or vegetables ; and I’ll fix things so that father will 
pay you so much yearly ; at least I think I can. He 
ought to, and shall, if — ” He stopped, for Ann was 
looking at him in astonishment. 

“ Be ye crazy. Mason ? ” she said, at length. Lordy, 
Lordy I ’ow much ye look like ’er. 0, Lordy I ” Ann 
covered her wrinkled face. “ ’Ow it all comes back I I 
wish ye’d fret and fuss as ye used to : I can stan’ that, 
but I can’t stan’ this ’ere ; I ain’t used to ’t. Nobody 
but ’er ever spoke a kind word to me after, after — ” 
Ann broke down. 

‘'You mean after your father died and mother married 
again. I know it, Ann ; it was a shame. I am going 
to be a different man from my father. But the Lord 
knows I came near killing my wife, as he did our 
mother. I remember it all now, and see it all. You 
won’t go back there — will you ? It is bad for you 
both.” 

“ Do’no ; Leve won’t \* ant me when she gets well. 
Nobody wants me when they can ’elp it.” 

Yes, she will ; you see if she don’t. She is a good 


THE DAY OF MIRACLES. 


301 


girl — Elevia is, Ann. She loves me, with all my faults. 
You will be the best of friends yet.’^ 

“ She’s good ’nuff, I s’pose. W’en is she cornin’ ? ” 
Pretty soon, if nothing happens. Ann, do you re- 
member how father pulled off mother’s flowers, — red 
and yellow, great and small, — and put them in a gor- 
geous wreath, round her poor dead face ? ” No answer. 
‘‘ Ann, I think you pulled them out and threw them to 
the hogs — didn’t you ? I am glad you did it. I didn’t 
understand it then. What did he do it for ? ” 

“ 0, Lordy I I do’no ; ’e said she liked such trash, an’ 
’e wanted the ground.” 

After a little silence Mr. Giles said, “ Ann, I think 
mother was a Christian.” 

Course she was ; w’ere’ll ye find one if she wam’t ?” 
was the gruff reply. 

** 0, I think she was, and I hope I am one. She told 
me to take care of you when I was a man. I haven’t 
done it — you have taken care of me. I am going to do 
better. I shall pay you for keeping house ; and I hope 
you will be a Christian some time.” 

She looked up at him bitterly as she said, — 

I tell ye I won’t forgive ’im ; an’ I won’t be mean 
’nuff to ask arter w’at I won’t give.” She left the room. 
'' 0, Lordy ! ” she mused ; “ w’ats come over ’im ? I 
can’t Stan’ it — I can’t — I’d rather he’d beat me.” 

She wrung her hard, toil-worn hands, as if to wring 
out the bitter thoughts that came creeping in at the door 
of her heart, so long closed to human sympathy, which, 
as she thought, had been rudely pried open by the voice 
of Christian love. 

No, no ; I won’t forgive ’im,” she muttered. I 
won’t ; I can’t. Didn’t he kill ’er — didn’t he ? If I 


302 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


ever do forgive Mm, itMl be w^en I can^t 'elp it — there 
now. God may forgive Mm, but I can^t ; no, no, I can^t. 
She don^t want me to — I know it — 0, I know it.^' 

** I can^t let you carry your wife home till Thanksgiv- 
ing,^' was Mr. Lovering's reply to the importunities of 
Mr. Giles. She will be stronger then. No ; I want 
to kill the fatted calf, and have the whole family together. 
What do you say to that ? " 

“ Why, I shall have to submit," was the reply. But 
when I do get her, I shan't give her up again so easily," 
he said, laughing. “ But I can never thank you enough 
for what you have done for us. I insist upon paying our 
board since I have been here." 

** Well, I shan't refuse to take a moderate sum. You 
will feel better ; and besides, I am not as rich as I might 
be, and Harmony's children must be looked after." 

I know it," said Mr. Giles, and I want you to carry 
out Elevia's wishes, and pay for Winnie's schooling out of 
her portion. I have engaged the best girl I could find to 
help Elevia, and think we shall be very happy after this." 

‘‘ If Ann troubles her, and renders her life miserable, 
I shall expect you to make different arrangements," was 
the reply. You see I talk to you now just as I do to 
my own boys. I have always been an old patriarch 
among them," he said, laughing. Frank and Edward 
consult me about as much as Charles, and then they all 
do as they please. That is about it, I believe. So you 
won’t mind my taking liberties," he said, as Mr. Giles 
changed color. 

''No, I won't mind — or I will try not to. I have 
been out of the way, and I don't wonder you can't trust 
me." 


TEE DAT OF MIRACLES. 


303 


Yes, I do trust you ; I only speak about these things. 
I believe you mean to do right, and I think you will.^^ 

Perhaps my readers will think me a great while telling 
my story. Please be patient while I tell you what be- 
came of the children who had been the objects of so much 
tender, unselfish love ; so unfortunate, and yet so richly 
blessed. The little, pale, sallow baby we introduced to you 
at the beginning has been maturing into a lovely, thought- 
ful child. The circumstances of her little life have pre- 
pared her to begin the work of self-denial, for which she 
seems to have been rescued from an untimely death. 
She had one of those confiding natures which steal into 
all hearts not barred against them by selfishness. That 
seems to be the mission of all babies. They are the 
golden keys that the All-Father sends to unlock the deep- 
est fountains of human affection, and draw out the hidden 
sympathies of the soul, which lie buried beneath the dust 
and ashes of selfishness and corroding cares. Theirs is 
a glorious mission. Rusty and crusty must that soul be, 
which resists the holy influence of the baby, and refuses 
to take in these little ones, who come to us like sweet 
odors from the source of love — like bright, sparkling 
drops from the great Fountain of all good. But our 
baby had a wonderful smile, wonderful eyes, and a won- 
derful faculty for creeping into the snuggest, warmest 
corner of all hearts. Perhaps, as she was to be left a 
helpless infant, worse than fatherless, she came more 
richly freighted from the Infinite Source of love. Per- 
haps, as she had a dangerous, diflScult road to travel, a 
mission to accomplish, she came armed for the conflict. 
We shall see. 


304 


H£ST£B STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Fostina^s Mission. 

Where is my father ? said a little girl of seven 
summers. “ Where is he ? she repeated, fixing her 
large, dark, beautiful eyes searchingly upon the yet fair, 
pleasant face of our old friend, Hester Strong. 

** Fossie, darling, why do you wish to know ? Are 
you not happy here with us ? Get your dollie, dear, and 
I will try to help you dress it.^^ 

“ No, no,^^ was the impatient reply; I want to see 
my father — I must. You say my sweet mamma loved 
him, and I must see him. Tell me where he is ; please, 
Auntie, do. Now grandpa Manlie has gone to Heaven, 

I want my father — I want him.’^ She laid the little 
pale face wearily against the broad, loving bosom which 
had sheltered her so tenderly all those years. 

‘‘ You grieve me, darling,^^ said Hester, putting her 
arm about the child, and stroking the rich, dark hair ; 

darling, you grieve me. If I thought it would make 
you happy, I would carry you to see your father; 
but— ; 

‘‘ But what, auntie — what is it ? What has he done ? I 
Is he blind, or lame, or crazy, like poor Mr, Davis ? I I 
must know. The children at school whisper about 
him, and ask me where he is, and laugh because I i 
don’t know. And I must know. I am seven years old 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


^Ob 

::ow,” she said, disengaging herself from those loving 
arms ; and, brushing the tears nervously away, she 
raised herself to her utmost height, saying, “ Don^t you 
see how tall I am ? Such a big girl, and don^t know my 
father ! ” 

‘‘Yes, I see,’^ said Hester, smiling at the attitude the 
child had taken ; “ but you always loved to have 
grandpa call you ‘ Little Mary ; ^ ‘ My Mary ^ — didn^t 
you ? 

“ Yes, I did ; but he is dead now, and I want to see 
my father : you said I might when I was old enough. 

“Well, dear,^^ said Hester, thoughtfully, “if you 
think you know what is best for you, I will tell you all 
about your father; but I think you had better wait.^^ 

“Auntie, I don^t know what is best; but I am very, 
very unhappy. She threw herself into those ever-open 
arms, and wept passionately. 

“ Better tell her all about it now,^^ said Martha Man 
lie ; “ she can^t feel much worse. 

“ Darling,^^ said Hester, softly, — “ darling, do you 
remember the large, ragged man that used to come here 
when grandpa was alive, and how grandpa used to 
call you into his room, and tell you stories while he 
staid ? 

“Yes, auntie ; who was it ? He had an old hat, and 
walked crooked all round. And Elida used to scold at 
him, and call him ‘naughty.^ Who was it ? I used to 
look out of the window when he went off, and breathe 
just — taking a long breath, — “ and grandpa used 
to put his hand on my head, and say, ‘ Thank God I — 
tliank God I ’ What made him ? He isn^t — She 
raised herself, and started back so that she could fix 
20 


306 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


those strange, beautiful eyes on Hester^s face, and 
waited almost breathlessly — ‘‘he isnH — she re- 
peated. 

‘'If he were your father, could you love him, and 
should you still want to go and see him ? was the reply. 
The child looked at one, then at the other, and then her 
eye rested on a little picture of her mother. She seemed 
bewildered and perplexed. At length, bursting into 
fresh tears, she exclaimed, vehemently, — 

“ I think you are naughty to talk that way. What 
would she say ? She wouldnH love that man, auntie — 
never I After she became more quiet, Hester told her 
all about her father, and the circumstances of her moth- 
er's happy d^th, and her father’s rapid fall into drunken- 
ness and ruin. 

“Do they ever get better ? ” said the child, stifling 
her grief — “do they, auntie ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, sometimes.” 

“ Who cures them ? God ? ” 

“ Yes ; he sometimes blesses the eflbrts of good peo- 
ple, who labor for the temperance cause ; and drunkards 
sign the pledge, leave off drinking, and become good 
again.” 

“ What is the pledge ? Do any but drunkards sign 
it?” 

“Yes, dear ; Martha and I have signed it, Winnie 
and Wallace have, and a great many others.” 

“ Then why don’t you get my father to sign it ? ” she 
said, reprovingly. “ I want to sign the pledge, and then 
I shall get him to sign it, and he won’t wear those ragged 
clothes any more. He shall walk like uncle Edward, and 
I will buy him a new hat, and then he shall come to the 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


307 


school-house, and they shall see that I have a father as 
well as they — can’t I, auntie ? ” she inquired, eagerly. 

Why, yes, dear ; you can sign the pledge, and labor, 
and pray, and be a nice little temperance girl,” said 
Hester, cheerfully. “Now that is settled, get your 
dollie, and we will see what we can do for that.” 

“ 0, but I want to sign it now, auntie. What if he 
should die ? I must begin right off.” Hester wrote 
what she called a pledge, and guided the little fingers to 
sign it. A sigh of relief escaped when it was accom- 
plished. 

“ There,” said Hester, “ you must ask God to lead you 
now, and wait till he opens the way.” 

“You pray about it, auntie. I shouldn't know any- 
thing but ^ Our Father,’ and * Now I lay me,’ and such 
prayers.” Hester prayed, and then called the child’s 
attention to her dollie again. 

“ But, auntie, I shall want a prayer like that.” 

“ Well,” said Hester, “ after you have said, ^ Our 
Father,’ you can say, ^ Dear Lord, please to help me 
reform my father ; please to save him from the power 
of sin, for Jesus’ sake ; ’ and then you must wait till 
he opens the way.” 

Elida Lentell was a general favorite in school. No one 
attempted to tease her. They couldn’t ; or, if they at- 
tempted it, they were obliged to escape ignobly from 
her keen, sharp wit. One boy, who knew something of 
her history, maliciously inquired, — 

“ Do you remember when you lived in the swamp ? ” 
alluding to ‘ the small house near the swamp,’ where we 
first found Elida. 

“ Why, no,” was the prompt reply. “ What was I 


308 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


then ? — a fish or a frog ? I don^t remember a thing 
about it. You came there to drink — didn^t you, after 
chasing a squirrel ? I am glad dogs don^t catch frogs 
nor fishes. This was said in her own inimitable man- 
ner, and caused a roar of laughter, which greatly dis- 
comfited the enemy, and caused the boys and girls to 
gather more closely around her. She was the same fun- 
ny, joyous child that she had been seven years before — 
the ‘ Sunshine ’ of the school-house and the play-ground, 
as well as the home circle. Cheerfulness was her gift ; 
but underneath it was a firm, persistent will, which it 
had caused Hester much pain and effort to control. 

“ She is the hardest one among them to manage,’’ she 
used to say ; for sometimes her wilfulness is so covered 
up with apparent good nature, that I find it difficult to 
get along.” 

Wallace was a fine scholar, the pride of the family. 
Howard Trueman had entered college, was half through, 
and Wallace had day-dreams of college life and a pro- 
fession. Albert Gray is attending school with Wallace ; 
they are firm friends. Lottie and Winnie are bosom 
companions. 

Mr. Stillman is keeping store yet. Seven years have 
changed him, but not for the better. He curses in his 
heart the Temperance Reform, and attributes his want 
of success in business to the Maine Law and Mr. True- 
man, who is now the liquor agent, and is complained of 
bitterly for ‘‘ corking up the bottles so tight,” and refus- 
ing to sell a drop without a manifest reason for it. 

Mrs. Stillman is leading a quiet, consistent life. 
Jack’s term at the Reform School has expired; but he 
is not reformed. He is still a wanderer, they know not 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


309 


where ; and the mother sighs as she thinks how different 
it might have been. Clara, now a fine-looking girl, is in 
the factory, boarding and intimately associating with 
Regena Steele, who has also b^en forced to earn her own 
finery and gewgaws by “ that miserable liquor law,^’ as 
she calls it. 

Hattie Gray has, at last, become convinced that step- 
mothers are not necessarily monsters. She is at home, 
enjoying life ; and rumor whispers that, somewhere in 
the future, she is looking for a happy home which shall 
be all her own. Elida, the sly rogue, enjoys inquiring 
after her brother Henry, often, and wonders if he is as 
bashful as ever. 

It would be funny if he should take a fancy to me 
when I am old enough — wouldn^t it, Hattie ? How 
should you like me for a sister ? Let^s see : you like 
Hm (as Ann would say) better than you did — don^t 
you ? How funny it sounds to hear her say, ‘ I ’ate 
Hm’ (old Mr. Giles). Rather tough eating, I imagine. It 
had the effect of making her cross. Why, how hand- 
some you look when your cheeks are red I ” 

‘'You are a perfect little tease, said Hattie one 
day; “but nobody can get angry with you. But if I 
should act so, folks wouldn’t bear it.” 

“ Well, I know it ; I was born so, and you weren’t — 
that makes the difference. You shall come and live with 
Henry and me. Now, don’t tell auntie I am talking about 
such things: she will look so” (drawing down her 
face). “ I had rather she would whip me,” she said, as 
Hester stepped in at the door to call her to finish some 
work she had left half done. “ 0, I am going to do 
itl I will have it done in a moment, auntie, darling. 


310 


HESTEB STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


You know Sunshine is always dancing around — don^t 
you ? 

Yes/’ said Hester, “ and that is what makes so 
many shadows and clouds.” Thus the merry girl moved 
on without the many cares and sorrows which constantly 
harassed Winnie and Mary F. 

There is a little Mason at Mr. Giles’. Unie is father’s 
girl now, and Master Mason belongs to aunt Ann, while 
little speck of baby sleeps in mamma’s bosom. Mr. 
Lovering patted Elevia on the cheek, as he peeped in at 
the wee thing, saying, — 

'VMy daughter, I think the second crop of smiles and 
roses which came back to you, after we gave you up, 
look quite as pretty and interesting as the earlier crop. 
Mr. Giles, you haven’t allowed the frost to nip them — 
have you ? ” 

“ I have tried to preserve them,” was the reply ; but 
Elevia has a good deal to put up with now. Old habits 
stick to me, and always will.” 

I haven’t complained — have I ? ” said Elevia, tak- 
ing his brown hand tenderly in hers, and smiling up into 
his face. 

“No, you haven’t; but you have had reason to, 
often.” 

“ I didn’t know it,” was the reply. “ I wish no one 
had more reason to complain than I.” 

“ 0, you are doing well, ” said grandpa. “ What 
shall you call this little lump here ? ” 

“ We call her Annie T. Isn’t it a pretty name ? ” said 
Elevia. 

“ Why, yes, I suppose it is ; but how did you know I 
shouldn’t want to name her after my Lizzie here ? ” said 
grandpa, laughing. 


FOSTINA’8 MISSION. 


311 


** Why, bless you, my dear,’’ said the happy little 
woman, “ I shouldn't want you to name her that. I 
won^t have a rival, no ways at all, you see. But how 
does Ann like her namesake ? she inquired. 

0, she is evidently pleased,^’ said Elevia; "but no 
one is equal to little Mason. 

" But, my dear,^^ said grandma, " don^t begin to call 
him ‘ little Mason. ^ Everybody in town will be calling 
him ^ little Mason, ^ and then there will be ^ big Mason,' 
you see ? " 

" I suppose they will, mother. How shall we man- 
age ? " 

" Call him by his middle name, or Mason Edward. If 
I were you, I should call him Eddie. 0, here is Miss 
Ann." 

" You needn't * Miss ' me," said Ann, with a dry 
laugh. " I'm 'ere, you see." 

"Yes, I see ; you have a pretty little namesake here, 
too ; I am almost jealous of you." 

"Needn't be; do'n'o w'at they named 'er that for; 
'omely name 'nuff : I didn't ask um to." 

" It's a pretty name," said Mrs. Lovering, decidedly. 
" Ann, you shan't slander the baby so. Did you have a 
good visit in — ? " 

" I s'pose so ; I missed this youngster," said Ann, 
hugging him to her bosom. 

" Yes," said Elevia, " and he missed her so I didn't 
know what to do." Ann gave the little fellow another 
hug. ^ 

" Did ye miss 'er, ducky — did ye ? Well, aunt Ann 
shan't go agin, I promise ye, ducky." 

" Mason get the horse, and take aunt Ann to ride," 
said the boy. " Mason drive." 


312 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


That^s a man/^ said Ann. 

** Did you see old Mrs. Lentell while there inquired 
Mrs. Lovering. 

Yes, she’s broke ’er leg ; good ’nuff for her, I 
s’pose.” 

'' Broken her leg I ” said Elevia ; “ why, you didn’t 
tell me of it.” 

Didn’t mean to, nuther. I s’posed ye’d want to 
go an’ nuss ’er, or suthin’, the whole on ye.” 

‘‘ Well, we must love our enemies, Ann ; the Bible 
says so,” said Elevia, “ and forgive them as we hope to 
be forgiven. But I don’t think I am good enough to 
want to go and take care of her. How did it hap- 
pen ? ” 

She was goin’ acrost to git some fillin’ for a web 
she’s weavin’ for ’Errick’s folks, an’ fell a-crossin’ the 
brook. Pity ’twarn’t her neck, though ! She kep ’er 
old ’ead out o’ water, an’ ’ollered an’ ’ollered ; but no- 
body ’eard ’er but ’Errick’s wife.” 

“ How far was it from Mr. Herrick’s ? ” said Elevia. 

Quarter ’v a mile, or so, I s’pose. She better put 
’er ’ead under, an’ done with it. I ’ate ’er, if the rest 
on ye don’t.” After she left the room, Mrs. Lovering 
inquired, — 

'' Don’t you feel afraid Eddie will imitate Ann’s 
speech and character ? ” 

Yes,” said Elevia, “ I do. I shall try to guard 
against it. So far I have had no trouble. But I can see 
that the child is doing her good. Poor Ann, I never sup- 
posed she would ever love or be loved. She is very much 
changed. You see she uses three words where she for- 
merly used one. Truly, kindnesss is a powerful instru- 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


313 


ment for good. But Ann’s affections were so chilled and 
blighted when young, and her heart so sealed up, as it 
were, by cruel, unkind treatment, that she will never get 
over it. It seemed as if she grudged every word, and 
was afraid the old crust would be broken up. Last 
night I was affected to tears when Mason Eddie (you 
see I profit by your suggestion) went to her, and 
said, — 

‘ Hear Mason pray, aunt Ann.’ She don’t allow him 
to say auntie. 

‘ 0 Lordy ! ’ said she, ‘ I guess I can’t. There, lit- 
tle Mason mustn’t say Lordy ; it’s a bad word. Aunt 
Ann must be whipped if she says it again. Kneel down 
an’ say it, little man. He knows — don’t he ? ’ He 
folded his baby hands, and said it very reverently. Ann 
listened, and sighed deeply when it was over. ‘ She 
learned me to say that, too,’ she almost whispered, 
bending over the child. 

“ ^ Did she?’ said he; ‘ it is a nice little prayer — 
isn’t it, aunt Ann ? ’ Who was she ? 

^ 0 ! (the Lordy didn’t come that time), — '0, it 
was my mother — my mother, ducky I I ’ad a mother 
like you, once, little man, an’ I loved ’er, as you do.’ 

‘‘ ‘ I am sorry,’ said the child, supposing, by Ann’s 
manner, it was a great trouble that she was talking 
about, — ‘ I’m sorry ; don’t feel bad, aunt Ann ; you 
shan’t have another mother next time. My mother shall 
be your mother, aunt Ann ; and I am your little boy 
— ain’t I?’ 

<< < Yes — yes; there now, run in, an’ kiss ’er, as I 
used to. I wish them days was back agin — Ido. I 
wam’t such an old hackmatack, then.’ 


314 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


* Hatch— ma-tatch I ’ said the child — ^ what is that ? 
Hatch-ma-tatch — how funny ! ^ Ann laughed, and 
waited for him to kiss me good night. She didn’t know 
I overheard her. ^ A little child shall lead them,^ you 
see. I hope Ann will be benefited, without injuring the 
child. Mr. Wiley’s folks were not at all pleased with 
the idea of Ann’s making her home with us. They lay 
it to mercenary motives. They give us a great deal of 
trouble ; but there, we must have trouble of some kind ; 
and it is so much better to have it out of the house than 
in it — out of the heart than in it.” 

‘‘ Yes, you may well say that,” was the reply. “ Isn’t 
it pleasant to think that God understands our motives, 
if our fellow-men do not ? ” 

Yes, it is a comfort ; yet how much of sin and im- 
perfection he sees in these hearts of ours 1 ” said Elevia. 
‘‘I am glad,” she continued, ‘‘that Winnie has finished 
going to school. Envena has been a constant trial to 
her.” 

“ I know it,” said grandma. “ Isn’t it strange that 
she will let her tease and fret her so ? Why don’t she 
cut her acquaintance, and have nothing to say to her ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I am sure. Strange to say, she loves 
her still, and thinks she doesn’t mean anything. And yet 
that naughty girl has told every boy and girl in the vil- 
lage about her father’s actions, and insinuated some 
things which were not true. She is the most deceitful 
child I ever saw, and yet she is the most innocent, sin- 
cere-appearing 6ne in the world. For some reason, best 
known to herself, she admires, caresses, and flatters 
Winnie in her presence, and slanders her behind h^r 
back. She slights her shamefully in company, and then. 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


315 


by skilful management, convinces the child that she didn^t 
mean to — never thought of such a thing — is grieved 
that Winnie should think so. I am vexed with her. 
She humors Ann, and thinks just as she does when in her 
sight, and makes all manner of fun of her at other times. 
I think she hates my children ; and yet she makes a great 
deal of Mason Eddie, to please Ann. I don’t know what 
will become of her. She brings various stories to Ann 
about Winnie. I was pleased to hear Ann tell her the 
other day that ' Win was as good as she was, an’ ’nuff 
sight better.’ I have thought her envious of Winnie on 
account of her position in Mr. Trueman’s family. I 
hope Winnie will succeed well in teaching.” 

“ I do hope she will,” said Mrs. Lovering ; she will 
be faithful, I know. I am glad her prospects are so 
bright ; she deserves it, I am sure. And there isn’t a 
person living who would make a more suitable compan- 
ion for her than Howard Trueman. Why, she is one of 
a thousand. No one can help seeing how superior she 
is to Envena. Isn’t that what makes her torment Win- 
nie so, think you ? ” 

Perhaps it is,” said Elevia, with a troubled look. 

She is very intimate at Mr. Trueman’s. They received 
her at first as Winnie’s friend ; but they think a great 
deal of her now. She is there oftener than Winnie. I 
never thought of it before ; but I do believe she is in 
some way supplanting her. She is capable of doing al- 
most anything which can be accomplished by intrigue 
and deception, and she not twenty. Why, when she is 
here, I can’t help believing her truthful, she seems so 
lender and affectionate, her voice is so low and pleasant ; 
ind yet I have good reason to think her very deceptive. 


316 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


She is a dangerous girl — I never knew how dangerous 
until I watched her intercourse with Winnie. She has 
tried to prejudice Mason and me against her, but in such 
a way that I never could tell any one just how.^’ 

Well, I should think she was artful and envious, 
said Mrs. Lovering. “ I hope she won^t cause Winnie 
any serious trouble. Why should she aim her venomous 
shafts at her ? What has she done ? 

I think it is partly owing to Winnings superiority, as 
you suggested, said Elevia ; ‘‘ and then, before Winnie 
came here, Envena had the whole ground — was quite a 
pet. I came to see that she was expecting favors from 
Mason as well as Ann ; and now Mason and Ann think 
there is no one quite equal to Winnie. She knows we 
have helped to educate her ; and Ann actually bought her 
a white muslin dress and blue sash for examination-day. 
I was astonished. Winnie cried when she thrust it into 
her lap, saying, — 

^ Take it, an^ wear it ^zamination-day, an' ye will. I 
didn't 'ave no sich day, nor dress, nuther. I wish I 'ad, 
though.' 

Winnie looked up into the hard, cold face, with the 
kindness creeping out of the eyes in spite of Ann's 
efforts to conceal it, bowed her head over the package, 
and burst into tears. ^ Don't want it — do ye?' said 
Ann, trying to speak in her usual dry, cold manner. 
^ Well, Vene would tell as many lies as ye've got fingers 
to git it ; but Ann ain't a fool, if she does act like one. 
So wipe up, an' make yer dress, an' wear it. It's well 
’nuff for folks that’s true an' honest to wear w'ite once 
in a w'ile.' Ann brushed out of the room, and slammed 
the door, before Winnie could control her feelings suffi- 
ciently to speak. 


FOSTINA’S MISSION. 


317 


isn^t angry — is she ? ^ said Winnie. am 
sorry I cried ; but it was so unexpected I and then it 
came over me how hard Ann’s life had been compared 
with mine ; and I have had trials. Poor Ann ! I must try 
to be patient with her. 0, auntie, why has my life been 
so full of privileges and blessings more than I deserve ? ’ 
There, I have told you quite a story. Mason and father 
are coming in, and I guess I have talked enough for 
once.” 

Why, so you have, child. I ought to have known 
better. Well, there, it is just like me.” 

“0, no harm done, I think. I shall soon rest. Isn’t 
it pleasant to see how much Mason and father think of 
each other ? ” 


318 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

SUNSmNE AND SHADOWS. DECEPTION UNVEILED. 

Several years later. Winnie has succeeded, as a 
teacher, beyond the expectations of her most sanguine 
friends. Her engagement with Howard Trueman is sup- 
posed to be a settled fact. She is established as teacher 
in the village high school, with a generous salary. 

“ I have only two real causes for anxiety,’^ she says 
to Hester. “ Wallace is in good hands, and is doing 
well ; and Mary F. is a darling bird, only a mite too sad 
for a child. But there is father — no better of his terri- 
ble habit. They say he leaves no means untried to get 
rum, selling the very clothes I give him for it ; getting it 
most of the time now, when it is so difficult to be obtained, 
and drinking cider when he cannot get rum. This is dis- 
couraging ; it is hard, but it don’t wear me as it did — I 
actually forget it sometimes. But Elida’s determination 
to work in that city mill worries me more and more. It is 
so needless ! She is so young, and thoughtless, and pret- 
ty ! — just the one to be tempted. I have no faith in 
Clara or Regena ; they are giddy, vain, and frivolous. 
It is strange she can like them for companions.” 

'' I know it, Winnie,” said Hester. “ I would like to 
have it otherwise; but she was so desirous of going, I 
thought it best to permit it. I hoped it wouldn’t last 
long. But I think you need not feel anxious. She is a 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOWS. 


319 


girl of sterling principle, and as firm as a rock, though 
not a Christian. And I can trust her to bufiet the waves 
of temptation which will meet her in the city ; for I 
mean to keep fast hold of the overruling hand, by prayer 
seasoned with faith.’’ 

'' But, auntie, isn’t she trusting in herself ? and are 
we ever safe when we do that ? If she were trusting in 
God, she would be secure. But since you have so much 
faith, I suppose I ought to.” 

“ Who was it that said there were two sorts of things 
he never allowed to trouble him — those things which he 
could help, and those he could not help ? Let that be 
your motto, Winnie. You can’t prevent your father’s 
drinking, nor Elida’s going to the mill.” 

Perhaps not, auntie,” was the reply ; but recently, 
I feel as if I might have helped to save my father, if I 
had been more self-denying.” 

How could you, Winnie ? ” said Martha ; “ I should 
about as soon expect to raise the dead.” 

Well,” said Winnie, warmly, that almost seems to 
be done, sometimes. Think of aunt Elevia ; you said it 
was like raising one from the dead then.” 

I know I said so ; and it was. But how would you 
begin to reform your father ? You couldn’t get near 
him,” said Martha. 

Aunt Martha, have you forgotten how often grandpa 
used to say, ^ You must have more faith, child : nothing 
is too hard for God ” ? 

Yes, I remember it, Winnie. I know I fail there ; 
but we must have just a little of something to hang our 
faith on, or pin it to — mustn’t we ? before we expect to 
accomplish any great thing.” 


320 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Yes/’ said Winnie, reverently; our Saviour says, 
* Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, believing, ye shall 
receive.’ Now I have prayed enough to save father. 
0, yes I I have literally wet my couch with my tears 
for him ; but that wasn’t enough in this case. If father 
should cry to God for help, as I have cried for him, God 
would reach out his hand and pluck him as a brand from 
the burning. But I had something more to do. My 
faith and works should have gone hand in hand. I should 
have braved all, and gone to him, and led him back to 
God and virtue. In his strength we can do all things. 
How I have longed to go ! But the fear of aunt Abigail 
and grandmother has clung to me, even now that my 
childhood is gone. If I were at liberty again, I would 
go ; but I have entered upon the work which I think God 
has given me, and since my kind friends have prepared 
me for it, I feel that it would be ungrateful to leave it. 
I hope I shall do good where I am ; but I sometimes 
query — ‘ Am I doing right ? Have I done right ? ’ I 
wish I could know. Besides,” she continued, I have let 
that opportunity slip. I could have done more for him 
as a child — he loved children.” 

Mary F. had listened attentively to this conversation. 
Her color came and went. 

“ What is it, dear ? ” said Hester. ** Winnie, we must 
be careful not to introduce this topic often : you see my 
wise little girl thinks too much now.” 

Ah ! they little knew how much she thought. One 
great, earnest, pervading thought was wearing out the 
life of the lovely child, and making her prematurely old. 

'' Let us change the subject,” said Hester. '' You are 
going to Commencement of course.” 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOWS. 


321 


** I don^t know, auntie. Howard wrote me to come 
by all means ; but I feel some hesitation about it. If he 
should fail in speaking, — and the best do sometimes on 
those occasions, — I should feel badly. Envena told Lucy 
she would not fail of being there for the world, it would 
be such a rich treat to hear Howard^s graduating piece. 
Of course, she said, it would be splendid. And I pre- 
sume it will. I know he is capable of writing an ora- 
tion. I wish she wouldn’t compliment Howard so much ; 
it discomposes me strangely — when she does it, no 
doubt, to please me.” 

Hester had dropped her work, and was looking over 
her glasses into Winnie’s face, with a mournful, tender 
look. 

Did you say Envena was going to Commencement ? 
How is she going ? ” 

She said Lucy told her that if I didn’t go, they would 
cafry her. But what makes you look at me so, auntie ? ” 
said Winnie, blushing. ‘‘ I’m not jealous — indeed I am 
not. I don’t wonder that they like Envena best. She is 
so much more agreeable, and can express her thoughts 
and feelings so beautifully ! I don’t blame them — hon- 
estly I don’t ; and as long as Howard is true, I can get 
along.” 

Child, you don’t think of giving up your chance to 
iier — do you ? when the invitation is a year old or more, 
and it has been renewed so often, to my knowledge, that 
it is not outlawed. You are going; so don’t say a word 
against it. What a disappointment it would be to How- 
ard if you were not there ! ” 

“ But, auntie,” was the tearful reply, “ would you like 
to go when you knew they would prefer another ? ” 

21 


322 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Winnie/^ said Hester, I dor/t believe they would. 
I don^t believe it. They would feel hurt if you shouldn't 
go. Just you tell them frankly what she says, and see 
what they will say.^^ 

“ 0, auntie, I couldn^t, it would be so rude.^^ 

“ It was rude in her to tell you,’^ said Hester, and I 
hope that is all. But, child, I don’t believe they said so. 
How can you think so much of that girl, when she has 
wounded your feelings so terribly, and slighted you so 
often ? ” 

“ Why, auntie, you know she always explains every- 
thing so, and I find that I have been too sensitive, or 
credulous, or something. I don’t mean to tell you of 
her next time. You don’t love her, and I am the cause 
of it.” 

Hester sighed, and worked on busily for half an hour; 
and then putting on her things, she said, — 

I am going to make some calls, Winnie. Help aunt 
Martha about tea ; I shan’t be at home.” 

Hester walked with a firm, resolute step, as usual 
when on important business. She found Mrs. Trueman 
alone. Lucy and Envena were taking a walk, she said. 

I have come to speak to you about her,” said Hester, 
rather abruptly. “ Do you think she is a fit companion 
for Lucy ? How do you like her ? ” 

Mrs. Trueman looked up with surprise. 

Why,” said she, “ what do you mean, Hester ? 1 

thought you admired her. She is always telling some- 
thing you have said in her praise, or praising you, and 
Winnie is very fond of her.” 

“ That is the trouble,” said Hester. “ Winnie is per- 
fectly infatuated with her. She slanders her, slights her, 


DECEPTION UNVEILED. 


323 


and wounds her continually, and yet the poor child can’t 
see that she is a snake in the grass. She will sting her 
to death, I fear, and then make the dear child think it 
was a mercy, an act of condescension. And Winnie is 
not alone in her infatuation.” 

“ Why, you astonish me ! ” said Mrs. Trueman. ** If 
any one else were talking in that way, I should call it 
base slander. I know you have reasons for what you 
say. Will you tell me some of them ? ” - 

Yes,” was the emphatic reply. 

She then told her what Envena had said concerning 
Commencement, and how Winnie was feeling ; how she 
had gained Winnie’s confidence, and then divulged her 
secrets, maliciously informing the school children of all 
the circumstances of Winnie’s childhood, coloring and 
exaggerating shamefully, when the truth was bad enough. 

You astonish me,” said Mrs. Trueman, thoughtfully. 

She told us confidentially that some one, she knew not 
who, had told these stories all around. And really, Hes- 
ter, she did seem sorry and grieved about it. She said 
it was injuring Winnie very much — it was shameful, 
&c. I told her Winnie was to be pitied for this, but 
not blamed.” 

There,” said Hester, that accounts for one story. 
She told some one that you made a great deal of Winnie 
out of pity, that was all. I tell you her sympathy was 
put on — a mask, and nothing more. She reported those 
stories ; I have traced them all to her. I have had my 
eye on her these two years, closely. As for saying any- 
thing in her favor, I wish I could ; but I can’t. I have 
been in the family, you know. She is artful naturally, 
and her training — all she gets — is in one direction. I 


324 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


couldn’t bear it a moment longer. J ust look at it I 
What an adept ! Tell the stories with additions and va- 
riations, and then come with a lamentation in lier mouth, 
and all to prepare the way for making an impression 
favorable to herself. Is that all ? I am prepared for 
anything now. She has gone beyond my expectations. 
How about Commencement ? Did you really prefer her 
company to Winnie’s ? ” 

'‘You must let me collect my scattered senses,” was 
the reply. " What I have learned shocks me. Only 
that I know you to be above such meanness, I could not 
believe you. I remember her expressing astonishment 
that Winnie did not care to go, &c., and that she was 
not more interested in Howard’s success. But,” she 
added, " Winnie is a dear good girl. I suppose she is 
so absorbed in her school that she can’t think of any- 
thing else •; and, perhaps,” she added, lowering her voice 
almost to a whisper, " she is too much absorbed in some- 
thing else.” 

" What do you mean ? ” said Lucy, sharply. 

" 0, nothing ! I presume it isn’t anything. You 
know stories will fly. I didn’t mean to speak of it.” 

"Of course it isn’t anything,” said I; "but of what 
are you thinking ? ” 

" Why, the new minister. I don’t think there is any- 
thing in it. I have heard it spoken of.” 

" I believe she is the first and only one that ever spoke 
of it,” said Hester, quite indignantly. "He is school 
committee. Go on ; what next ? ” 

" I guess I have told you enough,” was the smiling 
reply. "You have given me a key that will unlock a 
good many mysteries. I thank you very much. Then 


DECEPTION UNVEILED. 


325 


Winnie thinks we don^t love her, and that accounts for 
her shyness lately. She don’t blame us, you say, dear 
child ! I should blame myself if I did not, for she is 
truly lovely, and every way worthy. Now I think of it, 
I fear Envena has succeeded in partially alienating Lucy 
from her. But Lucy is very sincere ; and when I un- 
lock that dark chamber, and let her look into Envena’s 
heart, she will be cured. 0, there is one thing I do not 
understand I She said she heard there were some ter- 
rible mysteries about Winnie’s birth. I never could 
think to ask you.” 

‘‘There is nothing mysterious about the child or her 
birth which you did not know. You know her as well 
as I do, and I know her better than she knows herself. 
She is good enough for a king,” said Hester, with unu- 
sual asperity. “ And so she reported that Mr. Lentell 
was in jail for killing his wife, or some other terrible 
crime.” 

“ Well, I have heard enough,” said Mrs. Trueman. 
“ What shall I do, Hester ? Can you tell me ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Hester, recovering her equanimity ; “ I 
want Envena to go to Commencement. Let her ride 
with you.” 

“ No ; I can’t do that. Winnie must ride with us. 
Why, I shouldn’t dare to see Howard without her. I 
really think the disappointment would cause him to fail. 
I can’t hear to that.” 

“ Well, hear me out,” said Hester. “It is half a 
century since I attended those meetings. You know 
why I went then,” she said. “It don’t seem so long, 
and yet it does seem longer. Well, no matter for me, 
now. I want to see Howard graduate, and I shall go, 


326 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and carry Winnie. We shall have to spend the night; 
but no matter. I would do more than that to make 
Winnie and Howard happy, and I don’t mean that the 
sharpest and most skilful actor shall separate those chil- 
dren. Haven’t I known them both ever since they were 
born ? I ought to ; I dressed them both in their first 
suits. I tell you they were made for each other, and 
nothing but God shall separate them^ in my day, if I can 
help it. Well, I was going to say, she shall ride over 
with me, and Envena can ride with you. Howard must 
drive Winnie home, and you must give me a seat in your 
carriage. Will you do this, and promise not to tell any 
one that we are going ? ” 

“Yes, I see no objection to it. I should like to have 
you there, and Howard would, and he will be delighted 
with your arrangements generally.” 

“ Very well. Now keep your eyes open,” said Hes- 
ter, as she kissed Mrs. Trueman good by ; “ and keep 
your own counsel.” 

“ Winnie is not going with us,” said Mrs. Trueman, 
when the girls returned from their walk. 

“ Why not ? Then you can go, Envena,” said Lucy, 
without waiting for a reply to her question. 

“Thank you — thank you ever so much. I thought 
Winnie didn’t care to go. Isn’t it strange ? She is 
afraid he will fail, and she will be mortified. Why, I 
shouldn’t think of such a thing.” Lucy bit her lip. 

“ I’ll risk him,” she said. “ I guess he knows as 
much as Mr. Elwood. I don’t like to hear him preach 
as well as I did ; he isn’t much.” Mrs. Trueman was 
not troubled with any more questions about Winnie ; but 
she thought sadly of the injuries the sweet girl had 


DECEPTION UNVEILED. 


32Y 


received from one she loved and trusted. She saw plainly 
that, as far as Lucy was concerned, the poison had taken 
effect. She felt thankful for Hester’s timely interference, 
and doubted not that she should be able to set Lucy all 
right when the time came. Envena looked very sweet, 
sitting on the back seat between Lucy and Susy. She 
was sorry, very sorry, Winnie wouldn’t go.” She 
was “ afraid she would regret it. I should think she 
would, at least. I tried to persuade her to go.” 

“ What reason did she give for not going ? ” said Mrs. 
Trueman. 

“ 0, perhaps I had better not tell ; she wouldn’t want 
me to. But I think it was mostly fear that he wouldn’t 
succeed as well as some.” 

She needn’t worry,” said Lucy, with unusual spite. 

Lucy don’t understand it,” said Mr. Trueman, smil- 
ing. “ It was the intensity of Winnie’s affection that 
made her feel so. She is so anxious he should excel 
that she fears for him. I feel so myself ; it destroys 
half of my pleasure. And this is a beautiful day ; the 
horses are in good trim, and everything just right, ex- 
cept I would like to see Winnie’s sweet, intelligent face 
peeping modestly out of the carriage once in a while. 
Linnie, why didn’t you persuade her to go ? Howard 
could return home in the cars as usual. I did not 
think of it. What reasons did she give for not going 
with us ? ” 

0, several,” was the reply, as she gave her husband 
a sign to be silent upon the subject. When they put up 
to rest their horses, she enlightened him concerning 
Hester’s plan, saying, “ I can’t stop to explain now. I 
should have told you last night, only you were out late.” 


328 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“I am glad she will be there/^ he said. ''I don^t 
like that girl. She is too smooth to suit me ; she would 
flatter any one to death.’' Mrs. Trueman smiled, as she 
thought how easy it was for short-sighted persons to see, 
when their glasses were properly adjusted. She whis- 
pered Hester’s secret into Howard’s ear at the earliest 
possible moment. He smiled, and said, — 

** Ail right, mother ; I am glad aunt Hester can be 
here. Isn’t she good for planning ? I have been dis- 
gusted with that girl for a long time, she assumes so much 
interest in me. But you say I don’t know her ? ” 

“ Yes, I am sure I didn’t till very recently. But 
don’t repel her to-day. Let her have all the liberty she 
wants.” 

I will try to be polite,” was the reply. ** I hope 
Winnie will sit where I can look in her face ; and you, 
too, mother. I need all I can have to give me cour- 
age.” 

“0, never tear!’' was the cheerful reply; ^Mt will 
soon be over. I shall be glad to have you succeed to 
your heart’s content ; but if you should not, it wouldn’t 
alter our opinion. We know the talent is there, and 
will come out some time ” 

“ Thank you.” 

“Just run down to Mr. M’s. Hester will stop there, 
and speak with Winnie a moment. It will do you both 
good.” 

“Thank you again, mother mine,” he said, as he 
darted off. Envena put on her most fascinating look, 
her most easy, affable manners, and talked more softly, 
as she leaned confidingly on Howard’s arm to the church, 
and up the steps. Howard paused at the door; she 
fleemed in no haste to let go. 


DECEPTION UNVEILED. 


329 


“ Howard/^ said Mr. Trueman, '' I want to speak 
with you a moment.^’ He turned. 

“ We won^t wait for them,’^ said Mrs. Trueman ; the 
sexton will give us seats. Howard will go upon the plat- 
form. 

I really thank you, father, said Howard ; '' you 
have relieved me from a dilemma. 

Winnie is here,’^ said Mr. Trueman, nervously. 

I know it,’’ was the reply. I have seen her.” 

0, all right ! I did not know.” 

Envena’s flattering encomiums pleased Lucy and Susie. 
‘‘ Elegant,” Splendid,” ‘‘ I envy you,” How proud I 
should be ! ” &c. But Mr. and Mrs. Trueman heard 
them with pain. Their son did himself credit. His address 
was modest and sensible, well written, and well delivered ; 
not brilliant nor eloquent. They were satisfied ; nay, 
more than that, gratified. Winnie’s eyes filled with 
tears several times — honest tears of gratitude. How- 
ard saw that she, too, was satisfied, and he was content. 
Envena exerted herself to the utmost to keep him by her 
side during the intermission, but in vain. He pleaded 
an engagement, and left her. When they met for even- 
ing services, Howard came in with Winnie on his arm, 
looking very, very happy. 

'' The deceitful thing ! ” said Envena, thrown off her 
guard. ‘‘ How came she here ? ” 

Honestly enough,” said Mrs. Trueman. '' Winnie 
never told any one she was not coming. I knew she 
was to be here. I said she was not to ride with us. 
You and Lucy took it for granted she was to stay at 
home. I chose to let you remain in ignorance of her 
coming, for good reasons, I think. So, you see, I have 


330 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


cleared Winnie from the charge of deception, I hope,'^ 
she said, smiling. Envena^s vivacity forsook her for a 
time ; but she recovered herself, and appeared more 
charming than ever. 

“I am much obliged to aunt Hester for this treat, 
Winnie,^^ said Howard, looking tenderly into her face. 

She knows instinctively what is right and proper.^^ 

‘‘You mean, what is agreeable — don^t you ? said 
Winnie. “ I am sure I enjoy it. But for her, Howard, 
I shouldn't have been here.’^ 

“You wouldn^t. Why not? I should have been 
sadly disappointed, and made a worse failure than I did 
now.^^ 

“ You didn^t fail,^^ said Winnie ; “ you did well.^' 

“ Then why do you look so sad every now and then, 
when not speaking, Winnie ? Is anything wrong ? 

“ There has been, Howard, she said, looking trust- 
ingly in his face ; “ but I hope you will set things all 
right. 

“ What is it, dear ? Tell me. Has your father been 
troubling you again ? 

“ No ; it isn’t wholly that. But, Howard, something 
has been coming between me and your family, especially 
between Lucy and me. Howard, it has been dark — we 
loved each other so ; and I don’t understand it. Won’t 
you find the rock of offence, and roll it away ? It would 
be a sad drawback to happiness if I thought your family 
didn’t approve your choice.” 

“ But they do, dearest. Don’t I know ? I learned 
to love you through them. Why, you are like a daugh- 
ter and sister to them now.” 

“ I hoped I was,” she said ; “ but what if it should be 


DECEPTION UNVEILED. 


331 


pity — only pity — and not esteem ? That wouldn^t sat* 
isfy me/^ 

“ Who said that, Winnie ? Tell me. 1 must know. 
Who said they pitied you 

“ Envena heard so, and told me.’^ 

“ She did I Well, Winnie, I pity ner, poor, foolish 
girl I She has reason to be mortified. That girl has 
been like a dark shadow in your path this long time 
She meant to supplant you in my humble affections. 
She couldn't . Nothing but death can sever my affec- 
tions from you. They have been maturing all these 
years. If you bade me go, I should, but not to love 
another. Are you satisfied ? And father, if he were a 
young man, I should be jealous. Mother is all right ; she 
has been enlightened. Lucy will see soon, and then, 
darling, the sun will shine again ; for I am determined 
to roll away the rock of offence from the door of your 
happiness. And, Winnie, if you love me, you will treat 
her with politeness — nothing more.^^ He told her many 
things which she did not know, and said, “ Are you 
willing to have the rock rolled out of the way, Winnie ? 
Don^t weep. She deserves it. You and Lucy will be 
friends again. 

“ I pity her,^^ said Winnie. So she thought I was 
at home ? Well, she did come near keeping me there. 
Howard, my heart aches for her. I have been seeing 
her duplicity ; but I loved her, and could not bear to 
give her up. But what you tell me convinces me I 
ought to ; our future happiness depends upon it. Aunt 
Hester told me many things I did not suspect of her as 
we rode along. 0, Howard, what if she had succeeded 
in separating us, as Hester and uncle Horace were sepa- 
rated I '' 


332 


HESTER STRONG’S LIPE WORK. 


She couldn^t have done it, dear, especially while our 
good angel is round to guard us. Let us forget her, and 
enjoy this pleasant ride. What a happiness, Winnie, to 
have you at my side ! ’’ 

Envena was truly mortified when her father handed her 
a letter from Mrs. Trueman, stating, in very concise but 
lady-like terms, that she thought the happiness and peace 
of her family required that their acquaintance with her 
should cease. ‘‘ For,’^ said she, “ I cannot allow my chil- 
dren to be infiuenced by one guilty of such hollow-hearted 
deception as I know you to have been. I beg of you, 
as you value your own happiness and reputation, to de- 
sist from your hypocrisy. Learn to be truthful and sin- 
cere, like our darling Winnie ; so shall you make and 
retain valuable friends. Your friend, L. C. Trueman. 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


333 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Scene in a Factory Boarding-House. — The Tempter 

FOILED. 

“ Before I would be tied to an old maid^s apron- 
strings, Elida Lentell, Fd run away, or sell myself 
cheap, cried Regena Steele. 

“ I suppose you would, was the indignant reply. 
“ Pray who among your numerous acquaintances is oc- 
cupying that very unpleasant situation ? 

“ Why, you. You are tied, hand and foot, to Hester 
Strong^s checked apron,^^ she added, contemptuously. 

Catch me being led round, either, as Martha Manlie 
leads you ! I mean to enjoy life.^^ Elida blushed deep- 
ly, and was about to give a scathing retort ; but the text 
Hester had taught her to repeat, when her quick temper 
was aroused, flashed into her mind. ‘‘ He that ruleth 
his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.^^ So she 
held the reins of her temper very firmly, and, with an 
efibrt of her strong will, dashed away the portentous 
cloud, saying, merrily, as she rose to her feet, — 

“ Me tied, — did you say ? Where, and how ? Girls, 
do look. Am I tied ? I didn’t know it.” She looked 
this way and that, whirled round with gravity, as if 
searching for some hidden string. “ I declare I can’t 
find the string. Do any of you see it ? Cut it, do, if 
you see it. ‘ Heigh-ho ! ’ as my grandpa says, I don’t 


834 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


believe I am tied, after all. I test the question. And 
the merry girl commenced dancing and capering around 
the room, upsetting work-baskets, piles of work, &c., 
until the laugh was turned against Regena Steele, who, 
at length, exclaimed, — 

Well, you ought to be tied, if you are not.^’ 

That may be true,^^ said Elida ; “that isn^t the 
question. Am I tied, or am I not ? If any one thinks 
I am not tied, let them manifest it by the usual sign. 
It is a vote that Elida Lentell is not tied to an old maid’s 
apron-strings, nor the button-hole of a dandy,” she said, 
in a whisper. 

“ Do keep still,” said Regena. “ I never shall finish 
my dress.” 

“ 0, I’ll keep as still as I can,” was the meek reply, 
“ if you will only exonerate me from the awful charge 
brought against me. Come, am I tied ? Will you 
promise not to think I am, if I will sit down and help 
you tuck that skirt ? ” 

“ Yes, yes. I’ll promise anything, if you will only help 
me about this contemptible skirt. It has plagued my 
life out.” 

“ Which way did it go ? I’m good for catching things,” 
said Elida, darting around in her own peculiar serio- 
comical manner. “Here it is; I have found it,” she 
said, seizing a box of flowers and ribbons, Regena’s ball- 
room treasures. ‘ There 1 now I’ll sit down and help 
you. Poor thing! I do pity you. You see I don’t 
have my life worried out in that way. My wardrobe is 
sensible and sober, if I am not. To be sure, I do lose 
a good deal,” she continued, demurely. “ I can’t be 
out nights, and come home early in the morning. I’m 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


336 


getting along in years, you see,^’ drawing down her 
face — ‘‘have got to be sixteen and ‘upwards,’ as aunt 
Patty used to say, and haven’t had a spark to my elbow. 
That’s bad ; but ‘ w’at ’s to be done ? ’ as Ann would 
say. Girls, how do you go to work to catch ’em ? 
Come, just enlighten my ignorance. I feel anxious : 
time is passing. Sweet sixteen is the turning p’int now : 
so I am just on the verge of maidenhood. It is funny — 
isn’t it ? — that some intelligent man don’t pick me, when 
I blossomed out so harndsome ? ” 

“ You are a funny thing,” said Clara Stillman. “ I 
wish you would be serious once in your life, and tell us 
why you won’t go to dancing school. You don’t think 
it is wrong to dance, for you learn the steps of us, and 
dance like atop. You are as graceful as a kitten. You 
would make a splendid figure in the ball-room. What 
objections have you to going with Mr. Kendall ? He is 
dying to have you. It is only to dancing school, you 
see a select company, different from a ball. It would 
make you graceful and easy in company.” 

“ 0, you say I am as graceful as a kitten ; now 
nothing can beat that. I dance like a top, &c. If I 
should learn any more, I should go up like a balloon. 
I couldn’t stay down at all. It would be awful to 
go capering about on air, expecting every moment to 
come down on somebody. 0, I shouldn’t dare to go ; 
and if Mr. Kendall is in a dying condition, it wouldn’t 
be pleasant, you know.” 

“ I do wish you would stop your bantering for once, 
and answer me one question,” said Regena. 

“I am at your service. Miss Steele.” 

Well, is it wrong to dance ? ” 


m 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


‘‘ I think not. You see I dance beautifully. I 
shouldn’t if it was wrong.” 

“ Come, be serious — do. Why won’t you go with Mr, 
Kendall ? He is a splendid fellow. Adolphus has always 
known him ; and he thinks everything of you.” 

“ I am sorry he does. I don’t want any one to think 
evil of me. I don’t, truly.” 

It isn’t any use to try to talk with you,” said Re- 
gena, tossing her head in disgust. 

“ Well,” said Elida, apologetically, I wish I wasn’t 
so giddy ; but it was ' born into me,’ as Artemus says, 
and I can’t help it.” 

“ I shouldn’t want to help it,” said several of the 
girls. '' I wish I had your fund of humor.” Elida was 
very thoughtful for a few moments, and then said, in a 
serious manner, - — 

“ I have no objection to telling you the reasons why I 
will not attend dancing school, I am sure, or some of 
them, at least. My mother died, as you all know, when 
I was quite young. She was a Christian ; and when 
dying, she solemnly commended us to God, and died 
charging aunt Hester to train us up for his service. 
She has been faithful, and as kind and self-denying as a 
mother. I wish I had improved under her teachings as 
Winnie has. She is a Christian, and I mean to be. I 
wish I was now. Well, you see sixteen years isn’t very 
old, after all. I am only a child. I know my mother 
wouldn’t approve of my going. My dear aunts wouldn’t, 
and grandfather’s folks would all be pained if I went ; 
and sister Winnie would be more anxious than ever ; so 
I shan’t go. Besides, I am old enough to know that 
I am better off at home, — just as happy in my way as 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


337 


you are in yours, and not in half so much danger, she 
added, solemnly. 

“ Just hear her ! I should like to know what danger 
there is in going to dancing school or a ball once in a 
while. Come, /go on with your lecture. 

“Danger of getting cold, for one thing,'^ said Elida, 
as Clara coughed ominously. “ Secondly, danger of 
falling in love, getting into a trap or a snare. 0, there 
is danger enough to keep me at home ; so let us dismiss 
the subject. Mr. Kendall, poor fellow, must die or get 
over it, for Elida Lentell will never attend dancing 
school, nor a public ball ; for, young as I am, I can see 
that it don’t improve one mentally or morally, or make 
one really any happier. I wish you would give up 
going, girls, and attend Sabbath school — won^t you ? 
We can’t live here always, and you yourselves have told 
me of girls who were led into sin in the ball-room — of 
terrible cases of wounded aiffection. Falsehood and 
deception abound there, you say. Why will you go ? ” 

“ Do hear Parson Lentell talk ! said Regena. “If 
anybody is so weak-minded that they can’t resist tempta- 
tion, they had better not live in the city.” 

“ I don’t think I shall leave the city to-night,” was the 
smiling reply ; “ neither do I mean to test my powers of 
resistance by going into unnecessary danger. I am well 
and happy as need be. Besides, if I can resist, my ex- 
ample might lead others into temptation which they could 
not or would not resist, and I should cause my weaker 
sister to offend.” 

“ There, there,” said Clara, with another of those deep, 
hollow coughs, “ I should think Hester Strong had come. 
‘ If meat cause my brother to offend, I will eat no meat 
22 


838 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


while the world standeth/ is her favorite motto. * Do as 
you would be done by/ is another. She is so full of the 
Bible that she runs over/’ 

It is something worth being filled with — isn’t it ? ” 
said Elida. ‘‘It is the word of God — the way of life. 
How much better to be filled with it than with beaux and 
balls, laces and flowers ! They must have an end ; but 
the word of God standeth sure. I tremble when I think 
that I must one day meet him,” she said, in a low, sol- 
emn voice. “ Aunt Hester says we need not tremble 
nor be dismayed if Jesus is our Friend, our Advocate. 
There,” she continued, drawing a long breath, “ give me 
credit for being serious once — will you ? You see I am 
not so thoughtless as I seem to be.” Just then a letter 
was handed to Elida. “ From home I ” she exclaimed, 
joyfully ; “ now for a treat.” In a few miuutes she was 
absorbed in reading. 

“ Old maids write interesting letters,” said Regena. 
“ What pleases you so ? Has Hester or Martha had a 
call to be married ? Whom is your letter from ? ” 

“ It is from aunt Hester.” She made no reply to the 
ill-natured remarks, but commenced reading items of 
news. “ Howard has graduat^ed. Aunt Hester and Win- 
nie went to Commencement. Envena went in Mr. True- 
man’s carriage.” Clara and Regena looked at each 
other. 

“ Then she has made out I I wish her much joy, and 
hope Winnie will be consoled by the idea that he has got 
terribly taken in. Envena Wiley will make a sorry par- 
son’s wife.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” said Elida, looking from one 
to the other. “ What are you talking about ? ” 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


339 


** Why, you little goose I exclaimed both girls, in a 
breath, “ didn^t you know Envena had been setting her 
cap for Howard Trueman this two years ? Playing pious 
or anything to get him. Isn^t she cute, though ? ” said 
Regena, laughing. 

I should suppose you thought something very funny 
had happened,’^ said Elida, running her eye along over 
the letter. She read, ‘ Howard and Winnie rode home 
together. Winnie is spending a week at Mr. Trueman’s, 
having a delightful time. Fortunately, this is her vaca- 
tion. They will visit all the friends, and probably ride 
over to see you. You must have your photograph ready 
for her. Howard has given her a beautiful album. Hat- 
tie Gray and Henry Herbert are to be married soon. 
Winnie and Howard will stand up with them.’ Things 
don’t look very dubious — do they ? ” said Elida, look- 
ing up archly. So Envena hasn’t been so very ‘ cute,’ 
after all — has she ? ” The two girls looked at each 
other again. 

It seems not; but there is time enough in three 
years. Now don’t go to telling Hester and Winnie 
what we have said. We were only in fun.” 

‘‘ Queer kind of fun — wasn’t it ? ” and Elida looked 
into the girls’ faces with an earnest, puzzled look. 
“You were not in fun,” she said at length, “ but in 
earnest. You mean something. I shall write to aunt 
Hester, and tell her just what you said. She will un- 
riddle it all, and straighten things out. You know she 
was served in that way once, and is as sharp as a 
needle.” 

“ Now don’t be such a tell-tale,” said both girls. ** We 
didn’t mean anything.” 


340 


HESTER STRONG’S LilTE WORK. 


“ I am sorry you say what you don’t mean, and sorry 
to disoblige you ; but I must. I had rather get ‘ stove 
in ’ with love, or ' smashed up,’ as your Adolphus says 
he has, or be brought into a ‘ dying state,’ like poor 
Mr. Kendall ; for such folks •are easily brought to life, 
and get over it nicely. Their feelings aren’t quite skin- 
deep. But Winnie — 0, I couldn’t bear it if anything 
should separate her and Howard I for I know they love 
each other truly, and not after the ^ dying rate ’ that 
some of our city beaux talk about. But there, I don’t 
mean to worry. Howard and Winnie are all right. I 
don’t like Envena ; but Winnie does. They shall have 
my picture ; and besides, I shall go home with them, and 
look after their interests as a good sister should ; for I 
am beginning to think city life is not so very elevating 
and instructive. I will try to be satisfied with the coun- 
try in the future, for if in some respects there are more 
advantages here, there are also more temptations for the 
inexperienced. I am afraid I shall catch the contagion, 
and get perfectly ^ fascinated,’ or ‘ bewitched,’ or some- 
thing, if I stay here. I am starving for the truth and 
sincerity of home friends.” 

“ I am sure I don’t care how soon you go, if you are 
going to lecture us, and set yourself up for a saint.” 

“ I haven’t done either,” was the quick retort. I 
was only rendering a reason, and you importuned me to 
do it. You see I have run a whole tuck while I have 
been running my other rig. Good night — my aged head 
feels the need of sleep.” 

I won’t let her off so easy,” whispered Kegena. 
“ I’ll contrive some way to get her for him. Adolphus 
has told him I would, and I will. If he can only get her 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


341 


to go with him once, he is sure of her — the little witch. 
Hester will have to pray more than once to keep her in 
the narrow way, Tm thinking — the old fool I Just as 
if we young folks didn’t want to enjoy life a little, before 
settling down to singing psalms. That is how she came 
to be an old maid, I expect.” 

Clara coughed, and turned restlessly. 

“ Why don’t you ask Augustus to get you something 
to take ? Your eyes are getting red, coughing ; and be- 
sides, you keep me awake. I hate to lie awake, it makes 
me look so old.” 

“ Does it ? ” said Clara. ** I will sleep with Elida, 
then ; I think she will be willing. It would be a pity to 
injure your queenly beauty. It might spoil your market,” 
she added, bitterly. 

There, don’t act so foolishly,” said Regena. You 
know I am willing you should cough. But you ought to 
take something. You won’t be able to go to the dance 
Wednesday night, if you don’t — that’s all. Lie down ; 
I want you to help me trap that child.” 

“ Well, I shan’t,” was the reply. “ You have trapped 
me, and led me to the edge of irretrievable ruin. I 
tremble to think how near. I expect my life will pay the 
forfeit of my dissipation and folly. I think there are 
worse evils to avoid than being an old maid, which you 
seem to dread so much. 0, I wish I were as good and 
happy as Hester Strong is. Elida’s lecture, as you called 
it, has opened my eyes. Better nemr marry — a thou- 
sand times better — than to wed unhappily, or lose one’s 
moral integrity by flirting and evil associates,” she mur- 
mured. ‘‘ 0, mother, mother, my poor, tried mother I 
What would you say if you knew the danger I have 
been in ? How near to absolute ruin I ” 


342 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ What do you mean ? said Regena, hoarsely. You 
don^t mean to say — She had raised herself on her 
elbow, and was looking down into the pale face fiercely ; 
“ you don’t mean to say that you are better than I ? ” 

I do,” was the reply, ‘‘ if you can plan and execute 
such a fiendish deed as you propose.” 

What do you mean, Clara Stillman ? Isn’t Mr. Ken- 
dall fine looking ? Doesn’t he dress like a gentleman 'I 
How do I know what his intentions are ? He thinks her 
extremely pretty — is delighted with her brilliant, spicy 
manner — says she is nearly as fascinating as I am.” 

He did ! ” said Clara, mockingly ; then you allow 
all men to fiatter you ; and you think he might deign to 
marry her, since you are otherwise engaged. Regena, I 
am confounded. You promised Hester that you would 
take care of Elida. We were the means of her coming 
here. I have felt guilty every time I have tried to induce 
her to attend dancing school, knowing how her friends 
feel about such things.” 

Well, I haven’t. I think young folks want to enjoy 
life a little, before settling down to praying and singing 
psalms. I intend to, at least, and I mean that Elida shall. 
She will make a sensation yet ; and you might if it wasn’t 
for your squeaniishness. What is the harm of fiirting a 
little ? There is Mr. A., I bewitched him, hut ‘ he has got 
over it,’ as Elida says. They do survive such terrible 
spasms, and get over them amazingly quick ; and I enjoy 
such things. Life would be intolerably dull without a 
little romance. I pity the poor fools that always begin 
to prepare to die as soon as they are old enough to enjoy 
life. I never was so happy as now. To be sure, I didn’t 
mean to carry the joke quite so far with Mr. P., for I 


SCENE IN A FACTOEY BOAEDING-HOUSE. 343 


like his wife, and he don^t get over his infatuation. When 
I am married I shall look out for handsome, fascinating 
girls. I shan^t ask them to ride or walk with my hus- 
band, I assure you. It is strange how blind some folks 
are. Just as if we can help such things I We are made 
just as we are. If married women can’t — ” 

“Stop, Regena Steele I you astonish me more and 
more,” said Clara. “ Is it possible that you mean what 
you say ? Is it possible that I understand you ? Dare 
you say that you are not a free moral agent, and account- 
able to God ? 0, I didn’t think it. I am, indeed, in dan- 

ger. The sentiments you have uttered are blasphemous 
and sensual. I know I have been vain and frivolous ; 
spent precious time in childish amusements, and exposed 
myself to evil, pernicious influences. I tremble when I 
look back upon the past. 0, there have been moments 
when my feet have well nigh slipped. I stood there 
thoughtlessly, defiantly. What if I had fallen I ” She 
covered her face, and cowered as if peering over into the 
awful depths of some slippery chasm. “ What if I had 
fallen 1 ” Her voice was deep and hollow ; she shud- 
dered. “ I might ; others no more thoughtless and giddy 
than I have fallen to rise no more.” 

“ Come, Clara, you are getting nervous,” said Regena. 
“ You needn’t feel so ; you haven’t fallen, and there is 
no danger of it. You and I are strong enough to stand 
looking over the most stupendous precipice that was ever 
gotten up by flirtation, and be in no danger of falling 
into the yawning abyss. Why, haven’t I done it time 
after time ? Just keep a cool, steady head, and you can 
stand upon the very edge of the bottomless pit, and be 
saved. I am speaking figuratively ; of course there is 


344 


HESTER STRONG’S Ll^E WORK. 


no such place. God never made us to curse and torment 
us forever ; so let us go to sleep. You are sick ; that 
is all.^’ 

You may sleep — I cannot. I am terribly awake to 
a sense of my sins. 0, I believe the Bible. It is full of 
threatenings against the workers of iniquity — those that 
forget God. That I have done. God has not been in all 
my thoughts. 

“Do keep still/ ^ was the impatient reply. “ I want to 
go to sleep. 

“ I can’t keep still until I warn you to escape for your 
life. Forsake the evil companions you have chosen ; 
associate with the good and virtuous, — and there are 
many even in this boarding-house, — for I tell you you 
are in danger of ruin, irretrievable ruin. I see it, if you 
don’t. You are playing a dangerous game. You are 
sowing the wind, and will reap the whirlwind, the storm, 
ay, the tempest. I tremble for you if you have cast ofi 
the fear of God.” 

“Well, you needn’t; I know what I am about. I 
shall come off with flying colors yet. Adolphus is as 
rich as a Jew. But don’t quote Scripture to me, it don’t 
take effect. Better quote Shakespeare, or somebody we 
know something about. I expected you would make a 
draft on Hester Strong.” 

“ 0, Regena, Regena I do you disbelieve the Bible ? 
Then I shall talk in vain. I was not aware that I had 
treasured up so many passages. All that I learned at 
Sabbath school come back to me to-night, with great force 
and power. Those were contented, happy days, com- 
pared with my most successful days of folly, or what you 
would call my most brilliant conquests. I thank God 1 


SCENE IN A FACTOEY BOARDING-HOUSE. 


345 


cannot boast of many, and there are no married men 
among the number. I never dreamed of such a thing. 
The thought is extremely revolting to me. You say you 
enjoy it and are happy. You are deceiving yourself ; 
for certainly you appear unhappy, dissatisfied, and irri- 
table. You are growing more and more restless, when 
not in hot pursuit of some phantom you call pleasure. 
But I must leave you. We have been companions in sin, 
— I hope we may yet walk together in the path of peace. 
I think my mother’s prayers have kept me from the com- 
mission of any act of immorality, and I mean to pray 
that your eyes may be opened before it is too late.’^ 

“ Better pray for the removal of that cough. It is 
very annoying to me, at least.” 

Poor Clara lay quite still for some time, wondering if 
Regena had changed so very much, or whether she had 
been blinded to her faults. How unprincipled and un- 
feeling she was I and she had manifested so much affec- 
tion for her, especially in company. She was imperious 
and exacting at times, it was true, but she was beautiful 
and brilliant — could flatter, caress, and cajole in turn. 
They had been friends from childhood. Regena went to 
the city several years previous to Clara’s going, and was 
far advanced in dissipation before Clara joined her. Thus 
far they had gone hand in hand outwardly. Regena, like 
a skilful general, led her victim along successfully, until 
sickness, caused by exposure, startled her from her false, 
delusive dream. She resolved to go home immediately, 
and persuade Elida to go, if possible. She became so 
distressed in body and mind, that she could bear it no 
longer. She arose, dressed herself, and was preparing 
to leave the room, when Regena said, derisively, — 


346 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** Go and expose me if you dare. I have an influence 
in this house — have been here longer than you. I de- 
spise the praying old fool that keeps it ; but she don^t 
know it. I looked out for that.^^ 

Regena, I shan^t report what you have told me in 
confidence. I am still your friend, and would save you 
if I could, but feel that I have enough to do to settle 
my own accounts. That child’s words, ‘ We can’t live 
here always,’ are ringing like a death-knell in my ears. 
We must one day meet Him, 0, Regena, Regena I I be- 
lieve I am worse than you now I I have been to meet- 
ing and Sabbath school a great deal more, and my mother 
has been a Christian for years. What shall I do ? — 
what shall I do ? ” Regena was alarmed at her dis- 
tress. She saw that she was very pale. 

I will go call Mrs. D.,” she said ; you lie down.” 

“I can’t lie down; but call her — do: I am afraid 
to die.” 

“ You won’t die. Here, smell of my cologne.” Mrs. 
D. soon comprehended the state of the case. She took 
the poor girl to her own room, and did what she could 
to make her comfortable. 

What arrested your attention to your sins ? ” in- 
quired Mrs. D. 

I hardly know. We were urging Elida to attend 
dancing school, and some things which she said affected 
me, and I couldn’t shake off* the feeling. I sneered at 
religion, and it seemed as if a strong hand was laid on 
my arm, holding me just in sight of my sins.” 

‘‘ My dear, I am glad you are standing there. Don’t 
turn away your face, but look at them, search for them, 
till you hate them, and feel that they are such a terrible 


SCENE IN A FACTOEY BOARDING-HOUSE. Sit 


burden that you are glad to lay them at the foot of 
the cross. I am glad that your false security is dis- 
turbed. Don^t think me unfeeling. I want you to be- 
come thoroughly sick of sin ; for I know of a Physician 
that will heal you when you feel your need of him. 
^ Ask, and you shall receive ; ^ knock, and the door of 
mercy shall fly open. Shall I pray with you, my dear ? 

“Yes, do; for I dare not. 0, I dare not pray I 
Thus the hours wore away. Neither Clara nor Mrs. D. 
slept much that night. Eegena also was disturbed and 
sleepless. She regretted having revealed her scepticism 
and other secrets to Clara, especially now she was so 
unwell. Far down in her soul she feared the Bible 
might be true. What if it was ? She tried to silence 
the still small voice — bade the Spirit depart for this 
time, thinking, — 

“ When I have been married a while, and am tired of 
this life and its pleasures, I will consider these things ; 
but not now. I am getting tired of this folly, and espe- 
cially of flirting. I think I shall hold on to Adolphus. 
He is handsome, and there is a golden charm about him. 
I led him captive, and now he is at my will and pleasure, 
ni keep him there. I don’t care what comes. I’ll marry 
him, just as soon as his fortune is secure. He says he 
must move cautiously, or his aristocratic father will put 
him on short rations.” And so the deluded girl went 
on, weaving web after web of bright, beautiful tissues, 
which were to prove as vain as vanity itself, and as false 
as the life she was now leading. 

“ Clara is very sick, Regena,” said Mrs. D. in the 
morning. “You will have to come out and take care 
of her, I think.” 


348 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Me ? Why me ? I can’t. I am making excellent 
wages.” Mrs. D. was puzzled. 

** I thought you were such good friends/’ she said, 
'' that you would wish to take care of her. Of course 
she must have some one. My duties are such that I 
cannot take care of her. Poor child I I wish she was 
at home with her mother.” 

I wish so, too,” was the impatient reply. Get 
Elida to stay with her, or send for her mother.’^ She 
saw that she was falling in the estimation of the board- 
ing mistress, losing all she had gained by flattery and 
deception for her own selfish purposes. She must make 
a bold attempt to maintain her standing. '' Mrs. D.,” 
she said, ‘‘ I have good reasons for being disgusted with 
that girl. If you knew the cause of her sickness, as I 
do, you would send her ofi*.” 

Not while she is suffering so severely, both physi- 
cally and mentally, I assure you. But what has hap- 
pened ? You recommended her highly.” 

“ I know it ; I am sorry I did. But really, Mrs. D., 
I didn’t know her. I have been here a long time, and 
she was a good, virtuous girl when I left home. Don’t 
blame me — will you ? Get Elida to stay with her, and 
write to her mother. Stay ; I will write to her. She 
will be here in a day or two. But don’t lisp a word of 
what I intimated. She hasn’t done anything that will 
come out and injure you. I am sorry I brought her 
here.” Mrs. D. was sorely perplexed. Regena had 
succeeded in ingratiating herself into her favor. She 
admired her self-reliant disposition, and thought her a 
girl of good moral principle. She regretted that she was 
so taken up with the world, hoped she would become a 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDING-HOUSE 


349 


Christian, and Clara, as her friend, had been favored. 
Her confidence in Clara was shaken, and it was hard for 
her to speak kindly to the suffering girl. She must 
have done something terribly amiss,^^ she thought, '' to 
estrange Regena so much. No wonder she is concerned 
for her sins.^^ And so there was a coldness in her man- 
ner which the sick girl felt keenly. But Elida was a 
gentle, tender nurse. 

“ I must stay out,” she said to her overseer’s objec- 
tions ; "‘I must, even if I lose my place. She has no 
friends here.” She was thinking of the meanness of 
Regena’s conduct. 

‘‘ Well, if you must, you must,” was the reply ; but 
come back as soon as you can.” 

There,” she said, coming into the sick room, 
have weathered the cape, and am here safe and sound. 
And now I shall devote my splendid abilities to this 
homesick patient. You see, I sprang from a long line 
of successful doctors, and nurses, and invalids, too ; so 
cheer up, Clara ; for I, the renowned Miss Lentell, am 
at your service just as long as it is necessary.” Clara 
smiled so sadly, that Elida ceased her bantering tone, 
and inquired, — 

‘‘What is it, Clara? You are heartsick, too — aren’t 
you ? Don’t be discouraged ; you will be better soon. 
I will put some mustard on your side, or hot water ; 
which shall I?” 

“Mustard, I guess; the pain is severe. But, Elida, 
what you said last night is sounding like a death-knell 
in my ears. ‘ We can’t stay here always.’ I feel that. 
I cannot stay here long, and I fear to die. 0, my sins I 
my sins I ” 


350 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Forsake them/' said Mrs. D., coming into the room 
— “ forsake them, or they will destroy you. If you are 
truly sorry for them, and not suffering from fear of ex- 
posure, why, God can and will forgive them, though they 
are many and heinous. I don't know what your peculiar 
guilt is ; but you do, and God knows." 

“ I don't know," said the sick one, much agitated, 
that I have any peculiar sins. I have transgressed 
the holy and righteous law of God all my life. I have 
been vain and thoughtless." 

“Is that aZZ.^" said Mrs. D., looking her steadily in 
the face. She was painfully embarrassed, and did not 
reply. Mrs. D. left her with the impression that she 
was a deceiver — that her sins had found her out. Elida 
and Clara saw the change in Mrs. D.'s appearance, but 
could not account for it. 

“ I thought she was a Christian," mused Elida. “ 1 
wish — 0, how I wish — aunt Hester or Winnie was 
here 1 But I know you are not a very great sinnep, 
Clara; and, if you were, it would be all the same. 
Why, if God can forgive ona sin, he can a million — 
of course he can. If Jesus could forgive that vile thief 
on the cross, he can forgive you ; and he will, now that 
you feel so sorry. I shouldn't wonder if you were for- 
given. I wish I could repent, as you do ; I should cer- 
tainly expect forgiveness. I long to be a Christian, like 
Winnie ; and aunt Hester always rejoices when any one 
is under conviction, almost as much as she does when 
they are converted. ‘ It is the Lord's doings,' she says ; 
‘ it is marvellous in our eyes.' She says we must al- 
ways walk softly at such times, and we will. I will stay 
with you day and night ; no one else need come in : I 


SCENE IN A FACTORY BOARDINO-HOUSE. 


361 


won^t let them. I will ask the doctor to tell them not 
to. I will read the words of Jesus to you ; and who 
knows but he will say, ‘ Peace,’ to you, as he did to 
his disciples that stormy night ? ” 

I can’t think what has come over Mrs. D.,” said 
Clara. “ She seemed so kind and motherly last night I 
She talked beautifully and prayed with me. It pains 
me.” 

“ Well,” said Elida, “ you turn over so that I can 
apply this poultice. I never made one before ; but I 
have seen scores of them made. There, now, don’t 
think of Mrs. D. again to-day. Perhaps something in 
the house troubles her. Aunt Hester says Satan is al- 
ways getting up a fuss about something when folks are 
serious.” Clara grew calm under Elida’s affectionate 
treatment, and finally fell asleep, saying, — 

I thank you, Elida. I shall always remember this 
hour.” 


352 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Hester^ s Faith rewarded. — A Leap in the Dark. - - 
Deceived and deserted. 

** Elida, what is it that weighs so heavily on Miss 
Stillman^s mind/^ said Mrs. D., with a searching look, 
which called a blush to her face. 

Why,^^ said Elida, “ she is under conviction, they 
call it. I thought Christians knew about those things. 
I have heard aunt Hester say that the most innocent are 
very guilty in God^s sight. She says when the Spirit 
searches out our sins, and sets them in order before the 
very best of us, the sight is overwhelming ; because 
enmity against God and the rejection of Christ are the 
most heinous of sins, and the only sins that will close 
the door of heaven against us at last.^^ 

Elida blushed again beneath the earnest, inquiring gaze 
of the boarding mistress. 

I don^t know these things by experience, she said : 

I wish I did. I have heard so much about repentance 
and faith, regeneration, and all those things at home, that 
I ought to be better than I am. But my heart is hard 
I wish I was awakened as Clara is ; I would arise and 
go to my Father^s house at once.^^ 

Elida, said Mrs. D., “ I didn^t know you could stop 
to think a serious thought. I am glad you can. Much 
good seed has fallen into good ground, as I perceive. 1 
hope it may yet bear fruit to the glory of God.'' 


HESTER’S FAITH REWARDED. 


353 


I hope so/^ was the reply. “ I have had line upon 
line, precept upon precept.’^ 

Did you use to see Clara often at home ? 

Yes, we were near neighbors. 

What was her reputation in the village ? 

‘‘ Good — very. She always went to meeting and 
Sabbath school there. Her mother belongs to the church. 
Aunt Hester said she should not be willing for me to 
come if she were not here.^^ 

Did she ? I fear she did not know her,^^ was the 
mysterious reply. 

‘‘You surprise me,^^ said Elida. “ Aunt Hester knows 
everybody in the village. Folks come to her with their 
troubles and trials, their joys and sorrows, and their sins, 
too, often. 

“ Well, what is the cause of her sickness ? said Mrs. 
D., with an incredulous look. 

“ A bad cold, or rather several bad colds, taken fool- 
ishly, of course. But is it more sinful to be out late, if 
you happen to get cold, and make a little trouble ? Is 
it ? she said, with some warmth. “ If I were a Chris- 
tian, I wouldn^t allow my boarders to have night keys, 
and be out late. Perhaps it is all right, but my aunt 
Hester wouldn^t think it was.^^ 

She retreated hastily, leaving Mrs. D., in her turn, some- 
what confounded. 

“ There, thought Elida, “ I didn’t rule my spirit that 
time. I have made a bad matter worse. But it is pro- 
voking. I thought Christians were all living for Christ, 
and not for self. 0, yes; they can be out ever so late, 
in all kinds of company, at all times, provided they don’t 
take cold and get sick. That is decidedly immoral ; it 
23 


364 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


mustnH be allowed. Poor Clara ! She might have kept 
you in. It is against the rules of the corporation for the 
girls to be out after ten. But that Regena will wheedle 
anybody into anything, almost. I wish Mrs. Stillman 
would come. I don’t know, I am sure, why I have not 
fallen in with some of her numerous plans for my advance- 
ment in life. I have felt amazingly inclined to. Mrs. 
D. needn’t be alarmed. I shall take care of Clara till her 
mother comes : and I shall ask the doctor if she can’t be 
moved into my bedroom. She shan’t trouble any of 
them. There I now I feel better,” she said, as she arose 
from the top stair where she had been sitting, to smooth 
her ruffled feathers,” as she would have said if there had 
been any one to speak to.^ 

Elida,” said Regena, who had put her head in at the 
door to inquire after the sufferer, ** Elida, I want to speak 
with you.” 

“ At your service for three minutes ; my cares are 
numerous, you see.” 

Yes, I see,” she said, when the door was closed. 
“ It is too bad. She ought to have been more careful.” 

“ It will be your turn next,” said Elida ; sickness is 
no respecter of persons. I, even I, venerable and staid 
as I am, have taken several very successful colds in my 
day.” 

Well, never mind, you little hector, I want you to 
attend a select party to-morrow evening, at the agent’s 
splendid new house. Adolphus got the invitation for 
you, and you will ride with us. He says you will grace 
any society, and I think so. I want to have the honor 
of introducing you.” 

Elida was considering. She would like to attend a 


HESTER’S FAITH REWARDED. 


355 


select party, and see the inside of the beautiful new house 
and the imported furniture. Regena. saw it, and took 
courage. 

** You could wear your blue cashmere, and I will lend 
you my white sash, gloves, &c. It needn^t cost you a 
cent. Hester wouldn^t object. Why, it is no worse than 
a donation party. You will go — won^t you ? 

Elida hesitated. 

** What will they do for entertainment ? 

“ 0, there will be music, and pictures, &c., &c.^’ 

** What kind of a thing may the ‘ &c.’s ^ be ? Dancing, 
and whist ? or euchre, or what ? ” 

** How can I tell ? Mr. attends church constant- 

ly ; of course there will be nothing improper. Come, 
say you will go, that is a dear good girl.'^ 

Elida bowed her head on her hand for a moment, but 
raised it suddenly. 

No, I can^t go ; I am * out a nussin%^ ” she said, in 
her peculiar, droll way. 

“0, nonsense 1 some of the girls will watch with 
Clara. She can think you are sleeping, and you need 
to be.^' 

Yes,^^ said Elida, ” and that is reason number two 
why I shan^t go. I do need all the sleep I can get ; but 
I shall not leave Clara for an hour till her mother comes. 
I thank you all the same, but I can^t go.’’ 

You are a perfect little gosling,” was the impatient 
reply. ‘‘ I shan’t try to bring you out.” 

Goslings always come out themselves,” was the 
laughing response, “ when they have staid in long enough. 
Perhaps I shall, for you say I am perfect. Better be a 
perfect gosling than an imperfect goose — hadn’t I ? 
There’s hope of me.” 


356 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Nonsense ! it isn’t any use to try to reason with you. 
You were born and brought up an old maid.” 

‘‘ Pity me, then ! ” was the doleful reply. “ 0, pity 
me, and don’t tempt me out of my safe retreat, for I 
might get terribly ‘ smashed up ’ by that wicked, mis- 
chievous fellow, whom lovers and poets call Cupid. And 
there would be nary a beau to pick up the pieces, or a 
tinker to repair the awful damages. 0, I’m better off at 
home ; ” and she darted out of sight. 

Dr. W. was very inquisitive that day, the girls thought. 
His examination was thorough, and rather embarrassing. 
He decided that the case was lung fever, attended with 
unfavorable symptoms ; so he told the boarding mistress. 

“ Nothing worse than that ? ” was the reply. 

No, but that is bad enough. I don’t like the sound 
of her cough. She will get up, I think, but not well. 
She has been neglected.” 

I fear she has,” was the sad reply. She has 
coughed terribly for some time, but she woidd go out 
evenings. Perhaps I ought to have let her mother know 
it, or insisted upon her doing something. I have too 
many cares.” 

Yes, you have,” said the doctor, musingly. You 
say you have had dark insinuations. Well, I see nothing 
wrong. Who insinuated ? ” 

“ A friend of hers — Regena Steele.” 

“ Why,” said the doctor, starting back, " does she 
board here ? I have seen her,” — he looked at Mrs. D. 
significantly, — ‘‘ and heard of her too. A friend of mine, 
a pure-minded, lovely, unsuspecting woman is suffering 
severely through her means.” 

“ Why, what do you mean, doctor ? ” said Mrs D., 


HESTER’S FAITH REWARDED. 


351 


sinking into a seat. “ What can ; mean ? She has 
boarded here four years. It must be another person.^’ 

“ I guess not.’^ He described her. 

“ Yes, that was she. Well, what of her ? What has 
she done ? 

“ 0, nothing new, that I know of. She is an unprinci- 
pled flirt — perhaps nothing more ; but my faith in her is 
small. You had better look after her.’^ 

I will, but I can^t believe it is she. I am astounded/^ 
Do you remember Mr. P., that used to visit her two 
years ago ? inquired the doctor. ‘‘ At least, I suppose 
he must have come here. He escorted her to concerts, — I 
have seen them there, — and to balls I am told. I know 
they rode together all day one Fourth of July.^^ 

” Yes, I remember him ; he is overseer in one of the 
rooms. He calls now, once in a while. What is the 
matter with him ? ** 

** 0, nothing, perhaps. He is the husband of one of 
the best women I ever knew, and Regena Steele knows 
’t. His wife was an old friend of hers. She betrayed 
her confldence, and stole her foolish husbaud^s afiections, 
such as they were, and left her sad and broken-hearted. 
And now Regena is keeping company with a real black- 
leg, an imp of Satan. I have it from pretty good author- 
ity that his business in this city of spindles is — what do 
you think ? I blush to speak it ; and I blush, too, that 
when appearances are so much against him, still he is 
received into what is called good society.’^ 

Well, what is his business ? You haven^t told.^' 

** It is — to decoy young men and maidens to destruc- 
tion. I may as well speak plainly. I cannot say that Miss 
Regena is his accomplice ; but she will bo . or fall a victim in 


368 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


her unscrupulous race for conquest. He passes for a 
Southern planter's son, but his movements are singular, 
and the city officers are watching him closely. 

I am utterly confounded,^^ said Mrs. D. What can 
we put confidence in, since we cannot trust our own 
observation ? I can^t, I canH believe I am so deceived. 
I must liave proof, positive proof, that we are both think- 
ing of the same persons. What is the name of that man 
you spoke of ? 

Adolphus De Wert.’^ 

Then I must give up the contest ; he comes here. 
He is a fine-looking fellow. Is it possible ! is it possible I 
What shall I do ? 

Keep a good lookout that no one in your house is 
led out of it by her. A trap is set which will be sprung 
soon. It is my opinion the sick girl is more sinned 
against than sinning. So take good care of her.^’ 

I will,’' was the reply. I cannot be thankful 
enough that the veil has been raised.” 

Elida and Clara were surprised again by her frequent 
calls, and the kindly interest manifested. 

She may be innocent,” thought Mrs. D. ; '‘but what 
firm friends they have been ! Perhaps — well, I don’t 
know, I can’t know ; only Elida says her reputation has 
been good at home. And besides, whatever her charac- 
ter has been, she is suffering and penitent now. I will 
do all I can for her.” 

" Well,” said Elida, “ she has come to her senses at 
last ; I am glad of it. These boarding-houses, with thirty 
or forty inmates, must cause a vast amount of perplexing 
care. That accounts for her treatment of you — so don’t 
worry. I am going to get you well enough to go home 


HESTER’S FAITH REWARDED. 


359 


when I go. Won’t it be pleasant to feel safe once more ? 
to know who is who, and what is what ? ” 

0, I do hope you will go with me ! ” said Clara, with 
unusual emotion. I feel easier now.” Elida looked 
at her thoughtfully, but made no inquiries. 

I want to put an onion poultice over your lungs, 
my dear,” said Mrs. D. “ It is one of the best reme- 
dies I know of. I ought to have done it before. But 
you girls can have no idea of the care and perplexity 
I meet in one way and another. There, I am pretty 
sure that will relieve you. How are you feeling in your 
mind ? ” 

‘‘ More calm,” was the reply. ” Elida has read many 
precious passages which I am sure were penned for me. 
They have comforted me, and yet I cannot think I am a 
Christian. I mean to seek until I am.” 

I am glad to hear it. You will not wish to attend 
balls and assemblies when you get better.” 

0, no, indeed 1 I have never enjoyed them as Re- 
gena does. I went, in the first place, to please her. 
But,” she added, sadly, henceforth our paths diverge, 
unless she will go with me. I went with her until I 
could go no farther. 0 that I could make her see the 
danger, and turn back I but I can’t. 0, Mrs. D., couldn’t 
you save her ? ” she said, imploringly. '' I warned her ; 
but she laughed at my fears, and despised me for my 
weakness.” 

“ You had better not distress yourself, dear,” said the 
kind-hearted woman, as she began to comprehend the 
reason of Regena’s alienation. “You have done your 
duty, and now you must try to get well. A life conse- 
crated to God is worth preserving. Can’t you breathe 
a little easier ? ” 


360 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ I believe I can. I thank you for thinking of me.^^ 
0, you are welcome 1 I will stay with you a part 
of the night, and let Elida sleep. 

“ I get considerable sleep, said Elida. I would 
rather take care of her than not, till her mother comes. 
I thank you just the same ; but you need your rest, 1 
am sure.^’ 

“ Where are you going to-night ? said Mrs. D. to 
Regena. 

0, to a very select party at Mr. ^s. Don’t speat 

of it to the boarders ; they are envious. Very few oi 
the mill girls are to be present, Adolphus says. Hov 
do I look ? I miss Clara about dressing. Her taste it 
perfect. She ought to have been more careful. Adol- 
phus always sees to wrapping me up.” 

** Regena, what if Adolphus should be an impostor, 
after all — a deceiver, and not a planter’s son ? which 
isn’t much better, in most cases.” 

Regena turned pale for a moment ; and then the color 
came, and the dark eye flashed, as she said, in a hoarse 
whisper, — 

'' I would kill him ; that is all. Why do you suppose 
such an impossibility ? ” she said, fiercely. 

‘'0, I have good reasons. I warn you to beware 
what you do. I have done wrong in allowing you so 
much liberty. After to-night, there will be no night-key. 
Those who are out when the house is closed must stay 
out.” 

‘Wery well,” was the reply; “I can find a home 
where I can keep the keys in my own possession. You 
can believe all that Judas Stillman tells you, and wel- 
come. I am provided for.” 


A LEAP IN THE DARK. 


361 


“ Clara Stillman, I suppose you mean, has not spoken 
a word against you ; but you did mislead me, and she 
has suffered for it. I have neglected her. We fear 
she will die. Have you nothing to reflect upon ? I 
have/’ 

‘‘ No, I have not. She is a free moral agent, she says ; 
of course she did as she pleased. But I wish people 
would look after their own affairs, and not meddle with 
mine. There is the carriage now. I am in a pretty 
plight.” 

I couldn’t prevail on her to go, Adolphus,” she 
whispered ; really I couldn’t. Is Mr. Kendall in the 
carriage ? ” 

Yes ; he will be greatly disappointed.” 

I am sorry,” said Regena ; “ but I will prevail yet.” 

Adolphus handed her into the carriage, said a few low, 
indistinct words to the driver, and, springing in after her, 
closed the door. 

Why, we are alone,” she said. 

Mr. Kendall has turned driver for the fun of the 
thing,” was the reply, ‘‘ and we thought Elida could be 
managed better in that way.” 

“ Aren’t we almost there ? ” said Regena, faintly, as 
they rode rapidly on, leaving the city behind them. She 
thought of Mrs. D.’s warning. Could it be possible ? 
No, no, it couldn’t be.” 

“ Dearest,” he said, putting his arm about her ten- 
derly, ‘‘I am taking you away from that miserable board- 
ing-house. My father’s agent has come on. I wouldn’t 
have him know where I found you for the world.” 

‘‘ Where are you taking me to, Adolphus ? ” she said, 
hoarsely, ‘'and without my consent? I think at least 


362 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


you should have told me. I could have gone prepared. 
How shall I get my trunks ? 

0, I will manage that. My love, I am taking you 
to a beautiful city home, about thirty miles from here, 
where you can have everything. I meant to have taken 
Elida. The giddy little thing could have been easily 
pacified, you know. She would have been company for 
you in my absence, until I can take you to your own 
home in the sunny South. Kendall is so terribly in love 
with her, that I thought put her where sheM be 
obliged to listen to him.’^ 

Time will not permit us to follow the travellers. 
Enough to say, that, before they reached their destina- 
tion, Regena was reassured, and her confidence in Adol- 
phus restored. At length, she found herself on the 
steps of an elegant tenement, on a fashionable street in 
the city. Servants were in waiting. It was just as he 
had said ; they were looking for her. How stylish the 
hall was 1 It would be better than working in the noisy, 
dirty mill. 

‘‘ I shan’t have to start up at the sound of the bell, 
half refreshed after being out late. They are never to 
know I worked there. I must be guarded. I am glad 
I am here ; but, after all, I should not have consented 
to come, if he had consulted me about it, especially 
after what Mrs. D. said. What could have possessed 
her ? Clara must have been tattling. How envious they 
will all feel when my marriage is published in the North- 
ern papers ! De Wert is a lovely name, and the mar- 
riage ceremony is to be imposing and grand. I shall 
feel better to have them think I was born and brought up 
a lady ; of course I shall. Adolphus is right there ; 


DECEIVED AND DESERTED. 


363 


they do look down upon labor with so much contempt^ 
negroes and all. Mr. Kendall admires me so much, I 
wonder Adolphus don’t get jealous. He appears to like 
to have him attentive to me. I wouldn’t allow him the 
same privilege. I told him so. I will write mother in a 
few weeks, telling her I am well and happy, but not 
where I am. I’m glad Adolphus don’t know our real 
poverty. He knows girls of some wealth and standing, 
in our New England, do work in the mill. He thinks I 
am such. Curse that liquor law I It destroyed father’s 
trade.” 

Language would fail me to portray the anger and 
mortification of the deceived, disappointed girl, when 
she found herself in an elegant house, but she not its 
mistress. Her door was locked, but another kept the 
key. She was a prisoner without hope, filled with rage 
and chagrin. She remembered the words of Clara, “You 
are sowing the wind ; you will reap the whirlwind, the 
storm, ay, the tempest.” 

“ I am caught in my own trap,” she thought, bitterly. 
“I have taken a leap in the dark, and fallen — fallen. 
I am not the mistress of a Southern plantation, but a 
slave. If I could reach the wretch who deceived me, he 
should bite the dust. Well, I am in the pit at last ; but 
it isn’t bottomless. 0 God, I wish it was. But I will 
reign a queen even here. I have been bitten. I will 
bite back. I can yet make conquests.” Thus the mis- 
guided girl consoled herself. She found her truuks, 
nicely packed, in her room one morning. How they 
came there she knew not. “ I will let them think I am 
at the South,” she mused. “ They shall never know 
how fallen I am.” Mrs. D. was not much surprised that 


/ 


364 HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 

she did not return that night. She has found another 
boarding-place,” she thought. The next day an express- 
man called at the door, and handed her a note from Re- 
gena, as she supposed, saying, — 

“ Mrs. D. : Please pick up my things ; pack my 
trunks, and send them to me by the bearer of this note. 
He will settle any accounts you may have against me, 
and take a receipt. I thought it best not to annoy you 
with my late hours. I took cold last night, and am in- 
disposed to-day, or I would not put you to so much 
trouble. Regena Steele.” 

Scarcely had the expressman departed when the oflScer 
of justice came to inquire for Mr. Adolphus De Wert, 
alias Bill Jones, alias somebody else, and Mr. Morris 
Kendall, alias Morris Fox, who, report said, visited the 
house often in his company. Elida fainted when the 
facts in this tragedy were brought to light. There was 
no select party — nothing but a plot to secure her per- 
son. She told Mrs. D. of all she knew, and how nearly 
she had been tempted to accompany Regena in her per- 
ilous expedition. She wept, and gave thanks in turn. 
Clara was shocked at the sudden departure of her early 
friend, but knew not that the deceiver had been so fatally 
deceived. 

When the real character of the pretended Mr. De 
Wert was made public, the friends of the deluded girl 
felt painfully certain that she was with her '' whose 
house inclineth unto death, and her paths to the dead. 
Ay, her house is the way to hell.” 

“ Girls,” said Mrs. D., impressively, as they were 
seated at the dinner table, ‘‘ take warning by this sad. 


DECEIVED AND DESERTED. 


365 


heart-sickening event. It is a fearful thing to trifle away 
one’s life I We cannot take coals of fire in our bosom, 
and not be burned.” 

‘'0, my daughter ! my daughter I ” said Mrs. Still- 
man, who had just arrived, folding her arras around 
Clara ; thank God that you and Elida escaped their 
well-laid snares. 0, death were a thousand times better 
than such a fate as Regena’s. I cannot thank God 
enough.” 

“ To him give all the praise, mother,” said Clara. 

But I must go home. I would die there. I never 
prized it as I do now.” 

“ And I, too, must go,” said Elida. Providence did 
not send me here, and I dare not stay.” 

“ There are thousands of good, pious girls in the 
mills,” said Clara. One needs only to be a consistent 
Christian to live here in safety.” 

“I know it — I know it,” said Elida; ,“but only 
think how near I came to ruin. I can’t get over the 
shock I have received. I must go home.” 

I am sorry to lose you and Clara,” said Mrs. D. ; 
** but I can’t say a word against it. If such things can 
be done in my own house without my knowledge, you 
will be safer at home. After this I shall hardly dare to 
trust my senses. I shall draw the reins tighter than 
ever. There will be no more night-keys for favorites, 
especially if they are pleasure-seekers.” 

“0, Regena I ” said Hester Strong, ''beautiful and 
gifted by nature — misguided, deceived, betrayed Re- 
gena ! farewell ! Let the veil of night and mystery fall 
around thee to hide thy shame, while we weep thy fall. 
God scathe the wretch that lured thee from virtue to 


366 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


vice — loathsome, hideous vice 1 Let all such be scorned 
and treated with the most withering contempt by the 
friends of God and virtue. Then our daughters and 
sisters will be safe. The curse of God will follow and 
consume the seducer, the libertine, the human fiend ! 
We will not stand among that thoughtless, guilty num- 
ber who smile upon and caress those murderers of inno- 
cent loveliness. No, no I we loathe and despise them 
when we know them, and we pray, ' God help us to dis- 
cern the truth, that our brother's or our sister^s blood 
be not found upon our shirts.’ ” 

How true it is that the innocent have to suffer with 
the guilty I said Mrs. Stillman. ** I am glad that this 
is not our home ; our rest remaineth.’’ 

Clara Stillman was but a shadow of her former self, 
physically, when she reached her home in the village — 
a pale, weary, emaciated invalid ; but her soul was 
stayed on God ; she had found peace in Christ. 

I am happier,’^ she used to say to those who came 
to sympathize with her, '' than I was when standing on 
the giddy heights of folly and dissipation. Perhaps you 
cannot believe it ; but it is true. To me, at least, the 
ball-room, the card-table, the theatre were all unsatisfy- 
ing. They left a sting behind. T enjoyed them by an- 
ticipation, and often at the time ; then came regret, and 
often disgust. 

Elida fell upon aunt Hester^s neck when she reached 
home, and wept uncontrollably for a time. 

I have come back as good as I went, auntie ; but no 
thanks to myself, for I wanted to join the giddy dance. 
Why, dancing was born in me, I do believe. If I had 
been a finished dancer, I should have been overcome by 


DECEIVED AND DESEETED. 


367 


the temptation to attend balls ; and the game, once be- 
gun, might have ended where poor Regena has gone/^ 
Well, I am glad to have my Sunshine back again, 
said Hester. “We have been partially under a cloud 
since you left home. You are a little wiser, I think, 
too,^^ she said, looking tenderly into the beautiful face. 
“ Now you will believe Martha and me when we tell you 
that it is better and safer to dwell in the house of the 
Lord than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. 0, 1 
want my children to enjoy life in a reasonable, rational, 
substantial way, so that when sickness, or trouble, or 
old age shall overtake them, their peace shall flow on 
like a river. I want it to last forever and ever in the 
kingdom of God/' 


368 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Port Sumter is fallen. — The Call to Arms. — Weep 

ING AT THE VILLAGE DePOT. 

Patient reader, you have not forgotten April 14, 
1861. 0, no ! you wilP^never forget it. You remember 

how the hot blood mounted to brow and cheek, how the 
breath came slow and hard, and mind and heart seemed 
crouching, as it were, beneath the mightiest, the newest, 
the strongest emotions you had ever felt, when it was 
said, — ^ 

** Fort Sumter has surrendered 1 

Our flag, that was dearer to us than life, because the 
most significant flag that ever floated in the air of evening, 
or fluttered among the storm clouds on the seas, had been 
disgraced, fired upon by the most cowardly and malicious 
traitors that ever cursed a nation. The Infinite alone 
can measure the height, the depth, the length, and breadth 
of that gigantic deed, which was but opening the door 
of the most stupendous rebellion the world ever saw. 
Reader, you know it all. The scenes of that day, and 
those which followed it, have been written upon your 
souls, as it were, with a pen of iron, and the ink was 
blood — the blood of fathers, of husbands, of brothers, 
and friends I 0, how many of those terribly truthful 
passages are underlined, underscored, by the suffering 
ones in our land. How many loved ones that were, are 


THE CALL TO ARMS. 


369 


mi ! Their dust has mingled with the dust of traitors ; 
tlicir bones, whitening on the sin-cursed soil of slavery, 
have made it free ! ay, free ! And out of the shadow of 
the greatest grief which ever crushed the heart of a 
mighty nation, the beautiful, the sublime pyramid of hu- 
man freedom has been reared. Founded on eternal truth, 
built with the solid granite of eternal justice, cemented 
by the blood and dust of a nation^s heroes, of the good, 
the true, and the beautiful, and fashioned by the almighty 
hand of Him who ruleth in heaven and on earth, — it 
shall stand secure. So let the heathen rage, and the 
people imagine a vain thing. 

You remember that the nation sat thus but one little 
moment, looking inward and upward. Then she arose, 
breathed a long, deep breath, which sent the life-blood 
coursing through every vein, causing the almost palsied 
heart to leap with a mighty bound. She arose like a 
giant aroused from a dream of peace and safety to see 
her flag trailing in the dust amid the smoke of battle and 
the noise of war ; and the cry of Treason ! treason 1 
flew like lightning over land and sea. 

To arms ! to arms I The foe is upon us I God give 
us victory or death,’’ was the low, deep utterance of 
every manly heart. 

“ God give us victory, or give us death,” murmured 
every true, noble-hearted woman, as she pressed her hand 
over the fluttering, heart, and bowed her head in silent 
prayer to the God of nations and the God of war. “ If 
it had been an enemy that had done this, we could have 
borne it.” The nation arose, shook itself like the newly- 
awakened lion, girded on the armor, and the conflict, the 
awful conflict, began. Tyranny and oppression on one 
24 


S10 


HESTER STRONG'S LIFE WORK. 


side, freedom and human brotherhood on the other. 
There was terrible earnestness on either side ; on one 
side bitter hate, malicious cruelty, wanton wickedness, 
such as a demon would shame before, methinks. Such 
was the wily foe that our dear ones went forth to meet. 
But we knew that God was with them, and they must 
prevail. 

“ God bless and keep you,^^ were the parting words of 
Hester Strong, as she g|tood on the platform of the village 
depot. God bless and keep you, Wallace, and Albert, 
and George. Don^t forget to read your Bibles. You 
will find them near the top, on the right hand side. Carry 
them near your hearts. God bless and keep you in the 
day of battle, and in the hour of temptation shield you. 
Be strong. Good by. Dear Mr. Elwood,^^ she contin- 
ued, turning to the young pastor of the village church, 
who was going out as chaplain, “ God bless you also, 
and keep you, as you look after the spiritual interests of 
our loved ones, and those engaged in a common cause. 

Mr. Elwood looked pale and thoughtful. He had just 
come from a sad, sad parting with one who was very dear 
to him — our old friend Lottie Gray. 0, there was weep- 
ing in the village depot, weeping in hundreds of little 
depots, as that early train went on its way ; weeping in 
the country and the city, on the land and on the sea ; a 
nation weeping, as she sent forth her noblest and best to 
perish, it might be, by the hand of treason ; and that, a 
base-born brother's hand. For this was the second call, 
and we knew that the conflict must be long, that blood 
must flow like a river. There was a crowd at the village 
depot ; fathers, and mothers, and sisters, wives and 
lovers. Little children were there, trying to comprehend 


WEEPING AT THE VILLAGE DEPOT. 371 

the mysteries of war — wonderiog why so many wept, 
and smiled when weeping. Winnie was there, leaning 
heavily on the arm of Howard ; thanking God, in her 
heart, that he was not accepted ; chiding herself for 
the selfish joy, weak from the great struggle it had cost 
her to say, “ Thy will be done,^^ when she thought that 
brother, lover, and friends were to go together, fight, 
and perchance fall. Elida was clinging to the arm of 
Albert Gray in a paroxysm of grief. 

^‘0, Wallace, take care of him. Albert, watch over 
my brother, my only brother. Good by, good by,’^ un- 
clasping the unwilling arms, turning the weary steps 
homeward, to wait, and watch, and labor for the absent 
ones. Hattie Herbert, the bride of a day, was there, 
silent and pale. No word escaped her lips ; a smile 
sadder than tears, a kiss, and the clasped hands open 
nervously, and the train passes on. How near those 
friends, left standing there, drew together in that hour of 
parting ! How their hearts beat in unison, as they tried 
to fill the great void, made by that parting hour, with 
hopes of victory and success I How they tried to hide 
their fears, their doubts, their griefs I 

‘‘ You are doubly my daughter now,’^ said Mrs. Gray, 
folding Hattie^s shrinking form to her bosom. We will 
wait, and weep, and pray, till the tempest is over, dear, 
and our Henry restored again. 

What if he should never, never come ? 

We will hope and trust till the blow falls, darling ; 
and if come it must, God, our God, will help us. Let 
us be cheerful. This is no time to sit idly down. Poor 
Lottie I it will go hard with her. The great hope of her 
life may never be realized ; the new and beautiful joy 


372 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


which has sprung up in her heart may go out on the field 
of blood. And Elida : how strange it seems to see her 
bright face veiled in sadness I 0, we must be strong, 
and try to strengthen them. How inexpressibly sad Mr. 
Frank Lovering’s folks looked ! ” 

Why, has George gone ? ” 

“ Yes. How brave the boys were I how they tried to 
be cheerful I none more so than George. ‘ I shan’t come 
back,’ he said, ^ without a laurel wreath, or an epaulet 
— see if I do.’ I suppose he and Lucy are engaged. 
How very calm she appeared I How noble, yes, I may 
say beautiful, the boys all looked ! for Henry is a boy to 
me, if he is married. Hattie, how little I thought, when 
you received us so coldly, perhaps suspiciously, that 
we should ever be drawn so very near to each other, and 
by such a tender cord 1 ” 

“ 0, mother, never speak of that again, I beg of you. 
I am ashamed of it, heartily ashamed of it. I saw my 
mistake very soon, but was too proud to own it. I re- 
gretted leaving home very much, when the time came. 
I longed to have you or father urge me to give up going, 
and stay at home ; for I found, soon after you came here, 
that it was my home still — a pleasant, comfortable home, 
such as I had not known for a long time. It was hard 
to work in the mill after that, I assure you. The motive 
was gone, the stern necessity removed. It didn’t seem 
pleasant to go day after day, rain or shine, sick or al- 
most sick. It was such a confinement I could scarcely 
endure it ; but I thought you were displeased with me 
for going, and I r^esolved to stay it out.” 

“Obstinate little thing,” said Mrs. Gray; “ I don’t 
know who suffered the most, you, or I, or your father. 


WEEPING AT THE VILLAGE DEPOT. 


373 


How long should you have held out but for that sickness, 
think you ? 

‘‘ I don’t know, I am sure. How long did you take 
care of me before I realized it was you ? ” 

“ A week, I think. I found out your secret when you 
little thought of letting me know it, and resolved to take 
you home with me as soon as you were able to be moved. 
You came ; I have never been sorry : have you ? ” 

“ I should think not, judging by the way I have nestled 
down here, grudging every day spent away from home. 
Mother, there is just a little drop of comfort in the 
cup of sorrow the war has brought me. I shall stay in 
my home a little longer. I shrink from going into a 
strange place.” 

How short the days seemed to the busy village folks I 
New cares and new interests had sprung up in the fami- 
lies of the absent ones. Home duties were interspersed 
with labors of love for the soldier boys ; letters written, 
with bits of news, kind messages, loving words, warn- 
ings, and words of cheer ; letters received — sad let- 
ters, hopeful letters, full of love and bright with antici- 
pation. How they passed from one to the other in the 
families of the soldier boys ! How they rejoiced together, 
or wept together, as the case might be ! And in those 
awful pauses, when man was arrayed against man in the 
deadly conflict, and there was no voice to whisper at 
nightfall the fate of the absent, as the days lengthened, 
and the hours moved slowly on, how hard it was to wait, 
how diflScult to hope and pray ! Then it was pleasant 
to see the noble self-forgetfulness of those who suffered 
most, and see them smile into each other’s faces, as if they 
would cheat themselves, and rob sorrow of half its sting. 


374 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ What a blessing work is ! Hester used to say. ** Our 
girls seem almost to forget their pain, in their eagerness 
to encourage their soldiers and make them comfortable.’’ 

Reader, you know all this : why need I tell you ? The 
village in our story was much like other villages, and 
the human hearts in it like other human hearts, that beat 
on and on in spite of anguish. Grief kills — but slowly; 
and hope is strong. / Justice and truth go hand in hand 
in the march of years. Let us leave our noble Lincoln, 
our Abraham, chosen of God and the people to lead our 
nation through the storm and the tempest, our generals 
to lead our soldiers in the battle, and God over all, to 
the end, and see what is the destined life work of our 
little Fostina, or, as she is now called, Mary F. Lentell. 
These are trying days to her. Hers is just the nature 
to suffer and endure, and suffer on — bend even to the 
dust, and let the waves pass over ; to lie shivering, 
bruised, and bleeding for a time ; then, arising to wipe 
away the blood, and dust, and tears, patiently gathering 
the mantle of hope about her yet cold and shrinking 
limbs ; walking steadily on and on to meet and breast 
another wave ; struggling to outlive the last one, beating 
no retreat. Such ones are heroes — God’s heroes, man’s 
blessings 


FOSTINA’S LIFE WOBK BEGINS. 


S15 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Fostina's Life Work begins. — Hester^s Story of her 
OWN Childhood. 

Will my poor father be drafted ? Fostina inquired 
often. “ Would it cure him of drinking if he went to 
the war, auntie ? 

“ Dear child, said Hester one day, “ how very, very 
much you think of your father I Is that what makes 
you so pale and thin ? Fossie leaned her head on 
that broad, loving bosom, closed her eyes wearily, and 
sobbed, — 

“ Auntie, I can^t help it. My darling mamma loved 
him, and I am his little girl. I have heard you say that 
a little child shall lead them. You found it in God^s 
book. I am growing older and bigger every day, and 
then I shall have to say, as Winnie did, ‘ I have lost that 
opportunity.^ She buried her face in HesteFs bosom, 
and wept passionately, as she had often done because of 
her father^s inebriety. “ Rum-maker and rum-seller, 
mused Hester, what do you think God, the Judge, will 
do with this child^s tears, and thousands of other chil- 
dren's tears ? wives’ tears, and sisters’ ? Ay, husbands, 
and brothers, and fathers are sometimes called to weep 
over the sin and shame you cause. What if God should 
gather up those tears into one dark, deep, briny ocean, 
and doom you to drink from the bitter fountain ? — for- 


376 HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 

ever drinking and forever dry — thirsty and drinking, 
but never satisfied. He is able, and it would be just. 
And you know that you would call in vain for a drop of 
water from the pure, cool fountain that flows on and on, 
forever, near the throne. None ever pass the gulf. 
* Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, 
nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.^ 
And such are ye. Dear child, said Hester, I pity you, 
and God pities you. That is what I used to tell Winnie. 
Darling, God pities you. He can help you to bear this 
life-long burden. Do you ever ask him, dear ? 

‘‘ Yes, auntie, and something tells me that if I should 
go and stay with father, I could get him to sign the 
pledge. Can I go ? She looked up timidly into her 
face. 

Fossie, you don’t know what you are asking, dear. 
Your grandmother Lentell is very cross and selfish, and 
aunt Abigail is much like her. You could not stay 
there ; my little girl would die.” Hester told her all 
the circumstances of her birth, how her mother had been 
neglected, how very low she found her, and nursed her 
back to life again. And ever since,” she said, I 
have watched over you in sickness and in health. And 
now I am growing old ; I am beginning to feel infirm.” 

“You, auntie ?” said the child. “Why, I thought 
you were young. How old are you ? ” 

“ 0, I have passed the allotted time of man’s life. I 
am more than threescore years and ten. I thank God for 
so large a measure of health and strength ; but it cannot 
last always. Some time I shall want the little one I 
rescued from death, cherished so tenderly, and loved so 
well, to lean upon. I, in my turn, shall need to be 


FOSTINA’S LITE WORK BEGINS. SY? 

cherished. Will Fossie do it ? or does she want to go 
and live with those who have never done her a single 
act of kindness, and blamed me for bringing you to 
life ? The child wound her frail arms around Hester’s 
neck impulsively, saying, — 

“ Darling auntie-mamma shall have her baby to take 
care of her when she is old and sick. I will come back 
long before that. I will, auntie ; I know I shall. And I 
will bring my father with me, and he shall plant the 
garden, and cut the wood, and sleep in grandpa’s room. 
0, won’t it be nice I And then you will forgive your 
little Fossie all her naughtiness — won’t you, auntie ? ” 
Hester looked down earnestly into the sweet, pale face 
which was now radiant with hope, and sighed, for she 
saw no chance to hope. ‘‘You will forgive your little 
Fossie ? ” she again inquired. “ Say that you will, and 
that I may bring him here when he is all cured. May 
I ? ” Her eagerness aroused Hester from a fit of ab- 
stracted thinking. She clasped the child in her arms, 
saying, — 

“ Why, yes, my darling ; of course I shall forgive my 
Fossie. She has been a good little girl so far, and I 
hope she always will be. I don’t expect* she will be 
faultless.” 

“ Well,” said the child, “may poor father come here 
when he, gets well of drinking ? ” 

“ Why, yes, indeed, he may, my dear, and welcome.” 
Again the child clung to Hester’s neck, this time in 
silence. Hester and Martha were puzzled at the strange- 
ness of her conduct. 

“ 1 don’t know,” said Martha, when they were alone, 
— “I don’t know but we shall have to let her go up 


378 HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 

there, and see for herself. It is strange what has 
possessed her.^’ 

“ Good by, little pet,^^ said Hester, a few days after 
this conversation. '' Take good care of aunt Martha 
till Winnie gets home, and then Howard will bring you 
over to uncle Giles’. And we will go from there to 
grandpa’s — won’t that be nice ? ” Fossie clung to 
Hester’s neck, and seemed loath to part from her. She 
crept to her room, and . wept long and bitterly. She 
then took a scrap of paper she had been sacredly keep- 
ing for the occasion, and commenced writing word after 
word till it was covered. She folded it with a sigh, 
saying, — 

‘‘Well, she will forgive me; she has promised it, 
and she' never lies. I am glad she won’t know it for a 
week, and I shall almost get him to sign by that time. 
No one has ever told him how wicked it was ; and he 
don’t know he has got a little Fossie to love him.” 
She tied up some of her dearest treasures in a little bun- 
dle, and, stealing out at the back door, took the road 
which she had been told led to grandma Lentell’s. 

It is only seven miles up there. Let’s see ; auntie 
told me once, when I asked her, that it was a straight 
road from the tavern. I know where that is ; and I 
must turn off at the right hand. I can find it. And the 
house is built like my uncle Mason’s. I guess they 
will be glad to see me. I will tell them what I came 
for. Why, I thought I should come to the tavern by 
this time.” And the little feet went faster and faster, 
the little heart beat quicker, and the breath came harder. 
“ It is a great ways farther walking than it is riding,” 
sighed the tired traveller. ‘‘ I shall have to rest. I 


FOSTINA’S LIFE WORK BEGINS. 


379 


wish I could find such a beautiful arbor as Christian did 
to rest in. I haven’t any roll to lose, only ray bundle, 
and I could hang that on ray arm. 0, here is a nice, 
cool place under this tree. I can lean my head against 
the tree, for it aches. I am glad aunt Hester promised 
to forgive me, and glad I learned to write. Now she 
will know where I am, and won’t think I’m lost. I will 
say my prayers first.” She knelt on the green grass, 
and prayed that prayer which she had so often and so 
sincerely uttered, closing with, — 

0 Lord, save my father, and help me to reform him, 
for Jesus’ sake.” That was the last she remembered. 
Two hours passed, and she still slept. She was aroused 
by the rattling of wheels, and sprang up bewildered from 
her long, deep sleep, just as Mr. Trueman reined up his 
horse. 

Why, little Fossie, is that you ? I thought you 
would be farther along. Come, get into my carriage. 
Aunt Martha is distressed about you, dear.” 

‘‘ 0, Mr. Trueman,” said the child, distressed in her 
turn, as she saw her bright dream of happiness vanish- 
ing, — 0, Mr. Trueifian, please let me go. 0, let me. 
God wants me to. I have asked him a thousand times, 
I should think, to save him, and he hasn’t done it. I 
know he is waiting for me to go to father, and lead him 
back. 0, let me go — lot me go. I must I She 
knelt there on the grass again, folded her hands, and 
prayed this time that she might be allowed to go on her 
pilgrimage. ^‘Ityis only seven miles,” she said. “I 
will come back lon§ before aunt Hester gets old and lame. 
I will, Mr. Trueman ; I will bring father, and we will 
kill the fatted calf, and you shall come and eat some of 


380 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


it. Dear, good, kind Mr. Trueman, don^t take me prison- 
er,^^ she said, as he alighted from his carriage, much affect- 
ed by what he saw and heard. 0, don’t take me prisoner 
and put me in jail, for I am not a deserter. I wrote it 
all on a piece of white paper ; and I want to go back 
myself and confess, when I have found my mission. I 
heard aunt Martha tell aunt Hester she believed I was 
saved for some kind of a * mission.’ Aunt Hester nod- 
ded, and whispered, ^ Perhaps it will be to save her 
father.’ I heard it; but they wouldn’t let me go; and 
so I went. 0, don’t carry me away from my ‘ opportu- 
nity ! ’ Winnie lost hers.” 

“ Be calm, little Fossie ; I shan’t take you prisoner, 
and you are not a deserter ; you are a good little girl. 
But I want you to go home with me now. See, the sun 
is almost down ; it will be dark soon. You have had no 
dinner, and will have no supper. You will have to sleep 
out in the damp, dark night, and get cold, and die, per- 
haps ; and then you will lose your ‘ opportunity.’ But,” 
he continued, ‘‘ if you will go home with me, they will 
let you go. They must ; and I will carry you with your 
clothes, and come up in a week, and see if you want to 
go home.” 

shan’t, Mr. Trueman; I shan’t go home till father 
goes with me, and then I shall want to come. I shall 
want a new hat from your store, and some clothes that 
are nice and clean ; and aunt Hester must come out to 
meet us, and kiss him, and put a ring on his finger ; for 
grandpa is dead, you know, and she will do just as well.” 
Mr. Trueman smiled sadly as he handed the young en- 
thusiast into the carriage. am glad they don’t call 
me a deserter. I was afraid they would. That is awful 


FOSTINA’S LIFE WORK BEGINS. 


381 


— isnH it ? They shoot them in the army ; and I didn’t 
know but you would take me prisoner — that means to 
take people where they don’t want to go. I hope they 
will let me use my * opportunity,’ and go to my ‘ mis- 
sion.’ Winnie said father loved children ; and I am 
growing so fast, I was afraid I shouldn’t get him to sign 
if I waited.” Hester and Martha stood anxiously watch- 
ing at the gate when Mr. Trueman rode up with the lit- 
tle truant. Fossie seemed embarrassed when she met 
them, and commenced crying. Mr. Trueman says I 
am not a deserter ; and I was coming right back, just as 
soon as I had done God’s errand : that is what he saved 
me for. I knew you would be so glad. What made 
you come home so soon, auntie ? ” 

“ Why, darling, aunt Martha sent for me. You have 
frightened us.” 

‘‘ /, auntie ? Why, I wrote it all in a letter. I 
thought you would know where I was.” 

“ 0, birdie bird, didn’t you know it was a long, long 
way for a little girl like you to go alone ? — didn’t you, 
dear ? You might get lost, and have to sleep out doors, 
and take cold. 0, darling, don’t ever do such a thing 
again ; ” and Hester kissed the little pale, sweet face, 
from which the joys of childhood had been driven by that 
accursed love of gain which pampers the drunkard’s love 
of drink. Martha left her work, and knelt by the child- 
heroine, who was bound to their hearts by such a mys- 
terious cord. 

“ Little Mary,” she murmured, — “my Mary, grand- 
pa’s Mary, — welcome home for a night. To-morrow, if 
you wish it, we will send you. But, precious, you will 
see hard, rough times. It won’t be like this home. 
They don’t love each other there.” 


382 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Won’t they love me ? ” said the child. “ I guess 
they will. God will make them ; he is going with me.” 
Hester was weeping ; it was a strange sight for little 
Fossie. Martha often wept ; she was used to that. 

Don’t, auntie — don’t cry,” she said; Fossie will 
stay.” - 

“No, darling. I am willing you should go. I was 
thinking of the past, dear — of .the past ; thoughts 
which you could not understand came crowding into 
my mind — thoughts and feelings buried long ago ; for I 
have lived a great while in this world of changes. I was 
thinking how many, many years I longed, with an inde- 
scribable longing, to learn something of my father, who 
perished on the ocean ; it was supposed shipwrecked at 
sea in a gale. They knew the ship was lost, and the 
crew were never heard from more. My mother clung 
to the vain hope that he was saved. It was before I was 
born, Fossie, just before ; and they said my mother 
watched and waited, with a pale, calm face, month after 
month. She watched and waited silently, wasting day 
by day. They hoped her helpless baby would arouse 
her from this waiting, listening posture ; but no. She 
talked to me of papa, my dear papa, saying, — 

“ Hush, hush ! ” with her finger to her pale lips — 
“ hush ! the captain is coming — hush ! ” and thus she 
sat, straining every nerve ; but he came not. They car- 
ried her far and near ; they did all they could to save 
her; but she died, listening and waiting. They tell 
me that when dying she started up, and reached out her 
arms, saying, with a smile of angelic sweetness, “At 
last ! at last ! ” and expired, leaving me a helpless in- 
fant. Fossie, I was older than you, 1 think, when I gave 


HESTEB’S STORY OF HER OWN CHILDHOOD. 388 


up the idea that I should see my father. I listened eager- 
ly to stories of wanderers returning. I imagined him a 
captive on some lonely island. I thought of him as a 
prisoner, and wished that I was a man, so that I could 
go and find him. I dreamed of him as returning poor, 
old, and sick, and sometimes as rich, and with a princely 
bearing. Child, I can^t blame you. Your father was 
manly, and had noble qualities ; go and save him. I 
will give you his last letter to your dear mother when 
she was dying. I will read it over and over with you, 
until you can read it to him. It may do him good. Tell 
him you are sent to claim the fulfilment of that sacred 
promise. Tell him his Harmony is waiting and watching 
for him in heaven, and Jesus is waiting to forgive and 
save.’^ Fossie had listened attentively to Hester^s nar- 
ration. 

And so you didn’t find your papa ? He was hidden 
in the sea. What made you feel better about him ? ” 

It was my mother’s dying expression. When I was 
thinking it over one day, and weeping, it came into my 
mind with great power, that as the golden cord was 
breaking, and the tried spirit released from its sufferings, 
my father came to meet her. And from that day he was 
dead to me.” 

“ Did you tell any one of your feelings? ” said Mar- 
tha. “ I never heard of it.” 

'‘No,” was the reply; "they never knew anything 
about it ; and I heard m*ore than they thought, or I 
never should have known that I was not in my own 
father’s house. It . was chiefly visitors that spoke of 
these things ; Mr. Lovering’s family never. So, now, 
dear, you shall not have to run away to find your father. 


384 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Since you wish it so much, we will consider that it is 
from above, and bid you God-speed ; for I know you 
have sought counsel of him in your childish way. Who 
knows but you may save him ? 

0, 1 shall, auntie — I shall. And when I come lead- 
ing him home, I want you to come out with mother^s wed- 
ding ring, — Winnie will let you have it, — and put it on 
his little finger, and kiss him and me. And aunt Martha 
must attend to the fatted calf, because she is the young- 
est ; and Mr. Trueman is going to put clean new clothes 
on him out of his store. He said he would when we 
were riding home ; and he said he might work in the 
store, too. 0, won’t the girls be glad, and Wallace, 
and all ? ” 

“Yes, we shall all be glad, and methinks there will be 
joy in heaven when that day comes,” said Martha, rev- 
erently. “ But you will have to give me notice,” she 
continued, sportively, “ or I can’t get a good fat calf for 
the joyful occasion.” 

“ 0, that won’t be any matter, auntie. It means that 
we should be happy, and have something good, as we do 
Thanksgiving Day — doesn’t it ? Will you both prom- 
ise ? ” 

“ Yes ; we will do all we can, dear. So pleasant 
dreams ; for to-morrow your work, as a reformer, begins 
in earnest.” 


LOYS’S QOLDEN ££T. 


885 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Lovers Golden Key, or A New Era in the Lentell 
Family. 

Are you my grandmother ? said little Fossie, as 
Abigail Lentell opened the door. Abigail laughed a 
coarse, derisive laugh. It was so strange, so new, to 
the child, that she started back, and looked up earnestly 
into the sympathizing face of Mr. Trueman, and then 
back into the unsympathizing face of Abigail. 

What do ye want ? said Abigail, sharply. 

** I want my father, and he lives with my grand- 
mother.’^ 

“ Well, I ain’t yer granny, nor yer father, ye see. 
Whose young one are ye ? ” 

I am aunt Hester’s little girl, I am, and Morgan 
Lentell is my father, and my grandmother’s name is 
Mehitable Hum,” said the child, innocently. She had 
heard Elida call her that name till she really thought it 
was so. 

''0,” said Abigail, sneeringly, “ ye come by one of 
yer aunts — did ye ? What do ye want of yer father ? 
The sot can’t do nothin’ for ye. They needn’t pack ye 
off up here ; we’ve got ’nuff to do to maintain him in his 
laziness. So ye may tramp back.” 

But I want to see my father,” was the reply, as the 
child folded her soft, delicate hands, and looked plead- 
25 


386 


HESTER 8TRUNa»8 LIFE VFORK. 


ingly into the hard, sharp face. I want to see him 
— I must. I have come to cure him of drinking rum, 
and then he shall go to my home, and not trouble you 
any more.^^ 

Pretty tall doings for a little scrimp like you.^’ Abi- 
gail was N'softened a little by tlie tearful earnestness. 
** Come in, an^ see what yer granny says. ^Twon’t do to 
put on no Loverin^ airs ^fore her. C-a-1-1 ? ” This was 
said reluctantly, with a nod towards the carriage. 

No, I thank you,^^ said Mr. Trueman. I will sit 
here until you see whether the little Fostina will be per- 
mitted to stay and get acquainted with her father's 
family. She has longed to come, but her friends feared 
she would not be welcome, and I perceive she is not. 
But yesterday she actually started on foot, and alone, 
and walked until, overcome by fatigue, she sat by the 
roadside and slept. It was nearly dark when I found 
her there, and she begged so hard to be allowed to come, 
that I promised to bring her to-day. You see she is a 
brave little thing, and thinks a good deal of the Lentell 
connections." 

What ! run away from the Loverin's' to come here ? 
Sho I she didn't, though I " 

'' Yes, she did," was the reply ; she is determined 
to form your acquaintance. She is a frail child; be 
tender of her if she stays. But I hope she will be willing 
to return with me. They will miss her sadly at home." 

'' They will, hey ? Well, come. Fussy ; that's yer 
name — ain't it ? let's go to granny. She's lame as a 
horse. She'll like ye to bring her things, and take up 
her stitches. An' I'll bake ye a turnover and twist ye a 
doughnut, I guess, if ye wanted to come an' see us. 


LOVE’S GOLDEN KEY. 


SSI 

Don’t be scairt ; the old woman is cross, but she never 
bites, an’ it’s easy ’nuff to git out of the reach of the 
crutches. Ye wanted to come an’ see how yer granny 
lived — did ye ? I like yer grit.” 

Fossie looked pained and puzzled. 

** They talked badly to my Jesus,” she thought, and 
I am his disciple ; so I must bear it. I wonder what a 
granny is. I will wait and see.” 

“ Marm, here’s Morgan’s youngest young one, an’ 
she’s the right sort, too. Why, she run away from 
Hester an’ the rest on um to come an’ live with us. 
She’ll be handy to pick up yer stitches.” 

The little wiry, witchy woman had grown more wizened 
and withered-looking than ever. The wrinkled face, with 
the sharp gray eyes sunken beneath a rim of black, 
looked hideous ; the long chin hung loosely ; the blue 
lips missed the sharp grinders, and the long nose seemed 
peering in at the open door of the mouth. Fossie looked, 
and shrank away — not so much at the ugly features, 
the long, wrinkled hands, with the light cords and the 
dark ones stretched lengthwise through them, the dark 
nails at the tips ; but the look of cold scrutiny, the entire 
absence of any kind of loveliness in expression, voice, or 
feature, shocked her. She remembered what Hester 
and Martha had told her. 

The old lady finished her scrutiny. 

Whose young one did ye say it was ? ” 

^‘Morgan’s,” screamed Abigail. “You never saw 
her after she was a week old or so.” 

What did ye say she was here for ? an’ where did 
she come from ? ” 

Again Abigail screamed the information, saying, — 


388 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“ Yer granny^s as deaf as an adder. Ye^ll have to 
pipe up. Ha, ha, ha ! was the conclusion of AbigaiFs 
second version of the story. 

‘‘ She'll cure him ! I guess so. The evil one couldn't 
do it." // 

‘‘I can't," said Fossie ; but God is more powerful 
than the evil one, and he can cure him. Satan don't 
want to." 

“ Bravo, little Fussy ! you'll do," said Abigail. 

W'at is she a-sayin', Nabby ? " with a curious look. 

0, she says the Lord can beat the devil any day — 
that's all." 

‘‘ Ha, ha ! " said Mehitable ; she's none of yer Lov- 
erin's ; she'll do, Nabby ; let her stay. She's wuth 
'bout as much as a taller candle for help ; but we've got 
'nuff to eat. Good for Hester ; I'm glad on't. They 
want 'er. Well, I guess we can buy 'er as pooty things 
as them Loverin's. 0, hum, hum 1 Well, take off yer 
things, an' Nabby '11 give ye a doughnut. Got any 
twisted ones, Nabby ? " 

What do ye say. Fussy ? " said Abigail, in her 
pleasantest tones. “ Will ye stay an' eat red apples, 
an' butternuts, an' 'elp Nabby make the links ? Ye can 
punch um with the new puncher. Ever seen one ? Got 
a new one. An' we make cider sarse. Did ye ever eat 
any ? " 

“Yes," said the child. “What are links? Those 
long things that we fry and eat ? " 

“ Yes ; an' ye shall have plenty of punkin pie, too ; 
so run an' tell the man that yer goin' to stay." 

“ 0, yes, I mean to stay if you will let me. And I 
can punch the links, I guess. I stick a fork in them 
sometimes to let the water out. Will that do ? " 


LOVE’S GOLDEN KEY. 


389 


** 0, you^ll do, I guess/’ 

Fossie climbed up into the carriage, saying, — 

** 0, Mr. Trueman, I didn’t know ; but I shall stay — 
I must. My Jesus bore the cross for me, and I can stay 
here for him.” 

Mr. Trueman saw the turn things were taking. He 
knew the state of Mrs. Lentell’s heart towards Hester and 
the Loverings. He saw that the child would not only 
be tolerated, but petted in their way, if they could tor- 
ment Hester and the Loverings by so doing. A low, 
base motive, to be sure, but it would make the child- 
missionary more comfortable, her life tolerable. 

“ Fossie dear,” he whispered, don’t speak of Hester 
or the Loverings ; your grandmother and aunt dislike 
them, and they won’t like you if you do. Think of them 
often, dear child, and love them. They have been good 
and kind to you, and love you as they do themselves. 
If they say unkind things about them, just you keep 
those little lips closed. Don’t get angry, but ask God 
to help you bear it. It won’t hurt auntie, or any of 
them, and it will help you to save your father.” 

May I speak to father about them, if he will let me, 
^-when we are alone.” 

“Yes, dear ; tell him how good they are. I shall 
call to see you in a week, and then perhaps you will go 
home with me.” 

“0, if I could I but the prodigal won’t come to so 
soon ; aunt Hester thinks so. I shall have to wait.” 

“ Perhaps,” was the reply, “you can sow some good 
seed, and leave it for the Lord to water ; we will see. 
Good by I I shall come and see how you like your little 
girl in a week,” said he, as Abigail canie out to see 
where “ Fussy ” was, as she persisted in calling her. 


390 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


^‘0, we’ll do nicely. Tell them Loverings we can 
dress her and send her to meetin’ as well as they. She’s 
a bright one, and knows which side her bread is buttered 
on. Win is a stuck-up school-marm, they say, an’ Wall ’s 
gone a-sogojin’, an’ Lide’s gone to the mill. She allers 
knew a thing or two. I hate yer stuck-up folks.” 

She is at home learning dress-making now,” was the 
reply. 

“ Sho 1 she ain’t, though — is she ? Well, they’re all 
’bout alike. We’ll try to get some of the stuck-up-ness 
out of this one. She’s the first of um that’s been near 
us since Hester stole um.” 

“ Well, good afternoon,” said Mr. Trueman. “ I must 
go. Good by, Fossie.” 

“ I am going to ride just down to the corner, aunt 
Abigail,” she said. “ I will run right back in a moment, 
and punch the links, or do anything you want me to.” 

“ That’s a good one,” said Abigail, who supposed it 
was said in jest, and not that the child was in utter ig- 
norance of what punching the links could mean. 

“ Mr. Trueman,” she whispered, holding her hand be- 
fore her mouth, ^‘you don’t think that my grandmother 
is a witch — do you ? ” 

Mr. Trueman smiled. 

Why, Mr. Trueman, there are some witches. There 
was one in the Bible that raised up Samuel, you know; 
and I have seen a picture of one on a broomstick,” she 
said, confidentially. Did you ever see it ? ” 

Mr. Trueman tried to look grave as he replied, — 

There were some, I know, in King Saul’s day ; but 
I think he caused them all to be destroyed, except that 
one ; and she died soon after that, and there have been 


LOVE’S GOLDEN KEY. 


391 


none since.” He spoke very decidedly, and with a 
great deal of assurance. 

Well, I am so glad,” said Fossie. My grandmother 
does look like the picture I saw. Perhaps that was one 
of the old ones that Saul killed.” 

I presume so,” said Mr. Trueman ; but you may 
be sure she is not a witch, or she would not be suffered 
to live. She has worked very hard, and is old, and 
basnet practised the Christian graces. That is what 
makes her look so forbidding, for in a measure we come 
to look like our lives. If we are habitually cross and 
selfish, we look ugly ; if kind and loving, we look pleas- 
ant and peaceful even in old age. Good by.” 

Fostina returned to attend to her opportunity, as she 
called it, and overcome difficulties an older and wiser 
head than hers would shrink from encountering. She 
said God was going with her, and he did go. Everything 
she said and did was “ brave,” and smart,” and 
bright.” Verily the Lord turneth the hearts of men at 
his will. Suffer she must from their coarseness ; it was 
new and irreverent to the pure-minded child. How often 
she remembered what aunt Martha said — They don’t 
love each other there ” I How she missed the love I She 
was puzzled to understand their language ; it was a new 
dialect. But she was a zealous little missionary, and God 
taught her, and shielded her from their bitter hate. 

Mr. Trueman went home thinking more meanly of in- 
temperance, wherever it might be found. In the palace, 
or in the hut, in the parlor or the bar-room, in high 
places or low places, at home or abroad, all the same 
— the meanest, the weakest, and the most damning vice 
men or devils ever indulged in. He groaned as he 


392 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


thought how little the Maine Law had accomplished. 

And yet/^ he thought, I must admit it, that it has 
accomplished much here, where it has been in force 

He sighed that in places of trust and honor the evil 
was increasing. Those set to guard the interest and 
virtue of the nation were turning traitors to the nation^s 
good, and drowning their God-given faculties in the in- 
toxicating cup. Shame, shame on such meanness I Set 
up to govern the people, by the people, and cannot gov- 
ern a little clamoring appetite I To govern the people, 
and such a people, and cannot govern self I Shame, I 
say, shame I He spoke aloud ; his horse stopped, put 
back his ears, and listened. “ I don^t mean you, old 
Charlie ; you are more of a man than they who sip wine 
at the card-table, or in the gilded saloon, though they 
pass in the ‘ best society,’ ” he said, sarcastically, and 
drink from a golden goblet, or a silver cup. Go on, old 
Charlie ; you will never die a drunkard, nor make another 
so ; and in God’s sight, I think you are more noble and 
worthy than they who do such things. I can’t see the 
point of difference ; getting drunk is getting drunk, 
whether the deed is accomplished by the best of imported 
wines and brandies, or on rum and cider. 0 that men 
would see this, and act up to their high prerogatives 1 
If I were the voice of the people, none but men who were 
temperate in all things should govern this people — men 
who could rule their appetites and passions, and rule the 
people in justice and equity. Then, and not till then, 
shall we be truly prosperous and happy.” 

'‘Where is my father, aunt Abigail?” said Fossie. 
" I want to see him, and begin my mission.” 


LOVE’S GOLDEN KEY. 


893 


^'That is a good joke, Fussy. How come they to 
give you such a homely uame ? 

‘‘0, my name is Mary Fostina ; but they call me 
Fossie.^^ 

Sho I Is that it ? Well, Fussy will^do, for you are 
a strange little thing ; not a mite like the young ones 
in the other room.^’ 

Aunt Hester said I was a good girl,” said Fossie, as 
she raised those large, dark, mournful eyes to her aunt’s 
face. 

‘'0, you’ll do,” said Abigail, laughing, ‘‘you’ll do. 
I’ll buy ye a china mug, with a flower on it, to drink 
milk out of, if ye won’t git homesick.” 

She was touched by the child’s expression, which was 
a strange commingling of smiles and tears, of sadness 
struggling with mirth. Her very artless truthfulness 
was mistaken for wit, and they called it droll. 

“ I should like a china mug very much,” said Fossie. 
“ Did you say there were children in there ? ” 

“ Yes, a grist of um ; but they won’t beat you. Fussy.” 

“ AYell, I am glad ; I shouldn’t like to be beaten. 
Who are they ? ” 

This was said in the child’s own peculiar ingenuous, 
demure way, which was her greatest charm. Abigail 
was delighted with it ; she laughed again, and her voice 
was a shade softer, as she said, — 

“ 0, they are uncle Simeon’s children. He’s gone 
a-sogerin’. They’ve got a proper pooty little one in 
there. You shall play with that one.” 

“ I should like to, but I shan’t have much time to 
play. I must help you all the time I can get.” 

“ What are you larfin’ at, Nabby ? ” growled Mehita- 


894 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


ble. *'You act like a fool. You^ll scare that young 
one’s senses out.” 

Sho ! I guess not/’ laughed Nabby. But I be- 
lieve she’ll kill me a-larfin’. Marm, she thinks she’s 
goin’ to be chief cook an’ bottle-washer, an’ shan’t have 
time to play. That ain’t much like Sim’s young ones — 
is it ? ” 

“ Ha, ha I no ; that’s true for ye, Nabby. Well, she’s 
a real Sharp, that one is ; she looks like our kind of 
folks. There ain’t a bit of Loverin’ in her, or Lentell 
either. Nabby, you are a sight like my folks. Your 
father was a nice clever man ; but he hadn’t gumption 
enough — that’s all. I never ’d orter married him. 0, 
hum I ” And the old lady swayed her body back and 
forth in bed, where she sat most of the time, with the 
Bible wrong side up, mumbling over the bits of texts she 
had heard now and then, or spelling out with great diffi- 
culty a few verses. 

Where is my father ? I want to see him.” 

Well, you won’t want to more ’n once, I reckon. 
He’s in there, drunk. He works in the forenoon, and 
gits drunk by dinner time. Ye’d better not meddle with 
him to-day, but wait till mornin’ when he’s sober. Wait, 
and see if he’ll know ye.” 

It seemed a great while to wait; but the obedient 
child cheerfully submitted. 

When Mr. Trueman informed Hester and Martha how 
he had left their darling, they were truly grateful. 

It is the Lord’s doings,” said Hester. '' Dear child I 
I hope and pray that the time may be short, for her sake 
as well as ours. How we love her 1 ” 

** What a comfort she was to us all 1 ” said Martha. 


IX)VB»S GOLDEN KEY. 


395 


** She is a strange child, so thoughtful and wise beyond 
her years, and yet a very child in artless simplicity. 
How 1 miss her 1 I shanH sleep a wink to-night, I do 
believe. Don’t you suppose she will lie awake and cry 
all night ? ” 

“ 0, no, I think not,” said Hester ; “ she is a young 
philosopher, that child is. She will cry as if her heart 
would break, say her prayers, and go to sleep.” 

Hester’s well-poised voice trembled as she commended 
their darling to God that night. 

Martha, I am growing old,” she said, sadly ; ** I 
feel it. But that dear child’s faith has prevailed. It was 
her Christian love that cast out fear ; don’t you see it ? 
She said they would love her. God would make them ; 
and he has. How wonderfully he fulfils all his promises 
to those who trust in him. * According to your faith 
be it unto you.* ” 


396 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Uncle Levi. — Sad Scene at the Supper Table. — The 
NOBLE Wreck. 

“ Marm, Bupper^s ready/^ screamed Abigail. ** Come, 
pick up yer crutches and begin to hobble. 

Fossie’s eyes filled with tears as the poor old lady 
wended her way slowly and painfully to the table, with 
AbigaiFs help. 

0, how lame ! ” she thought ; '' poor grandmother I 
I will pick up her stitches, and read to her.’^ She looked 
at the distorted features, the dark veins, and the large 
cords on the hands, and fairly shuddered. What if she 
should be a witch ? How did Mr. Trueman know they 
were all dead ? But then, if she was a witch, she would 
ride to the table on a broomstick, when she was so lame.^^ 
She took a deep breath, and began to watch for her father. 
She longed, and yet she feared to see him. A tall, lean 
man entered the room, and without word or sign to any 
one, commenced eating voraciously. Was that father ? 
No, he was younger than aunt Abigail. No, that wasn^t 
the ragged man she used to see. 

‘‘ Levi,^’ said Abigail, ‘‘ this is Morgan^ s child. She 
that was born when he’s in jail. Why don’t ye look 
at her ? ” 

He raised his sharp gray eyes suddenly, and looked 
at the child. Their eyes met. Levi started. 


SAD SCENE AT THE SUPPEE TABLE. 


397 


^ << Why/’ said he, is that the baby ? She looks like 
Harmony, some.” 

“ What is he say in’, Nabby ? ” said grandmother, im- 
patiently. 

“ Why, he says she/^ pointing with her knife, looks 
like Harmony.” 

Levi, you talk like a fool,” was the reply. “ She’s 
a Sharp, has got the Sharp eyes, an’ forrad, an’ nose. I 
tell ye she’s a Sharp, and she shall have my red cloak 
made into a little red ridin’-hood, like Sim’s gal, and go 
to meetin’ with um. Nabby, can’t ye fix it to-night ? I 
wan’t her to look smarter ’n any on um.” 

0, I’ll do it before she wants it,” said Abigail, who 
agreed with mother in her ambition about the child’s 
looks. “ We’ll make um stare — won’t we, marm ? I’ll 
git her the best hat I can find.” 

Ha, ha I ” and the old lady opened her mouth very 
wide. She looked more like a witch than ever, when she 
brought her crutches down angrily, and said, — 

‘‘Levi, don’t you let me hear you say she looks like 
Harmony, or I’ll beat ye over the head.” 

“ I should like to see you doing it,” was the curt reply. 
“ I just want you to remember that I was twenty-one 
long ago. I don’t stand crutches now, or tongues, and 
I shouldn’t mind going into the army. Five or six hun- 
dred dollars don’t grow in the country. I could sell the 
stock, you know.” 

“ 0, they don’t love each other one bit,” mused the 
little missionary. “ I wish I could teach them to love.” 

“ There, there,” said Abigail, “ don’t mind what the 
old woman says ; she’s a child. If you go. I’ll go. Ten 
such cows as we’ve got, and four such oxen, and two 


398 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


such horses, can’t be found every day. What a shame 
to sell um I Sim’s gone and left his grist of young ones 
for us to look arter. What’s the use to talk ? Jule is 
slack.” 

Julia is good enough,” said Levi, and so was Har- 
mony ; and that child looks like her. I am glad she’s 
come, — a little ray of light you see, — for home has been 
a Tophet ; that’s all. Abigail, you know it. It is work 
and scold, and eat and sleep : that’s been the programme. 
I hate it. I had as lief go to war, and shoot somebody, 
as to be shot at all the time, and can’t shoot back. I 
wish she would strike me once ; I’d go.” He raised his 
voice to a high pitch. Harm, I tell you this child 
looks like Harmony, and she is pretty. Now cane me 
if you dare ! ” 

Fossie covered her face and cringed, expecting to hear 
the blow, the crashing of dishes, &c. The poor strained 
hand clinched the crutch, and the gray eyes, sunken 
behind the dark rims, glared at Levi, — nothing more, — 
as the blue lips muttered, — 

“0, hum ! I’d orter expect it ; this is what comes of 
marryin’ third cousins. 0, hum I ” 

'' Don’t be scairt. Fussy.” What a name I ” said 
Levi.) “There won’t be any bones broken; and uncle 
Levi likes ye, and he’ll take ye to see the ' grand craven 
animals,’ as marm read it the other day.” 

“ What is it, aunt Abigail ? ” 

“ 0, the caravan. There is monkeys in it. Ever see 
one ? ” 

“ No, but I have read about them. I brought my 
books, and I’ll read you about it when I have time.” 

They were interrupted by a heavy, shuffling step. The 


SAD SCENE AT THE SUPPEE TABLE. 


399 


poor inebriate’s troubled sleep was disturbed by the loud 
talk. He caught the name of Harmony now and then. 
How it startled him ! He had not used it, nor allowed 
others to, for years. He raised his head, brushed back 
the tangled locks of rich dark hair, and listened. 

She is pretty, and she looks like Harmony,” he heard 
Levi say, defiantly. Now cane me if you dare.” 

He started up, and crawled ofi* the bed nervously. 

“ Who’ve they got there f ” he muttered, with an oath. 

Who looks like her — like her?” he groaned. 0, 
God, she wouldn’t know me. Why, I meant to forget 
her. Curse them 1 they’ve brought it all back — all 
back.” 

He stopped in the doorway which opened opposite 
Fostina. He leaned weakly against the door, with pale, 
parted lips, red, wild eyes, tattered garments, and matted 
locks. How haggard he looked I What a wreck 1 How 
like a noble castle in ruins, with hingeless gates, tum- 
bling walls, and broken battlements I 

0, what a noble wreck I The tall, manly form was 
there ; the pale, white forehead was there ; but it seemed 
as if the honest, loving, manly soul had been banished 
from the noble mansion of God’s own making, and a de- 
mon, half defiant and half afraid, stood fearfully looking 
out of the windows of the soul, abashed at those strange, 
beautiful, mournful eyes, which rested with an unutter- 
able yearning look upon him. He reached out his arms 
with a quick, frantic gesture, then drew them back 
fiercely, and, smiting them on his broad chest, exclaimed 
vehemently, — 

0 God ! 0 God I it is the same look. Her eyes, 
how they followed me to the road — out of sight — yes, 


400 


HESTER STRONGS LIFE WORK. 


she stood in the door and looked. Again he smote the 
broad chest, madly. “ 0 God, what a look that was ! 
How it haunted me ! How it stood between me and the 
jug, till she died I And then it followed me — followed 
me day and night, till I cursed it, and I never saw it 
more.^’ 

This was said with a shudder, and in a hoarse whisper. 

Never any more ; and I drank and drank till I drowned 
my misery, and got revenge ; and it was sweet.’^ He 
raised his voice. You told me to drink, old woman. 
Have you got enough of it? ” 

Yes, yes ; God knows I have,^^ was the low, muttered 
reply. 

That is what comes of your ugly, domineering, self- 
ish disposition,^^ muttered Levi, as he left the room. 

Poor, frightened, trembling little missionary. Did her 
heart fail and her faith waver for a moment, as she 
bent lower and lower in her seat, saying, — 

“ Dear Jesus, what shall I do ? what shall I do ? 

‘‘Do ye think ye can cure him, Fossie ? do ye?^' 
whispered Abigail. 

She, too, was pale and trembling. There was some- 
thing awful in the language, tone, and manner of the 
fallen man. It was like a wail of despair, or a prayei 
half uttered, or a muttered curse. She could not read 
it. She had not seen the tears nor heard the prayers 
which had been put up for that man ; knew not that the 
Spirit of God was striving in the dark, dark soul. 

“ I can’t cure him. 0, no ! I can’t, but God can. The 
prodigal son was poorer and worse than he. He ate 
with the swine ; but my poor, poor father has good nice 
food, and a little girl to love him.^' 


SAD scene at the SUPPER TABLE. 


401 


Morgan Lentell took a step nearer. 

‘^Wlio be you?” he gasped. “Who be you? Her 
ghost ? ” 

“ I am Mary Fostina, your little girl. I love you, and 
Jesus loves you. I have come to tell you something 
beautiful when you are sober.” 

“ Sober ? ” he muttered. “ Who told you I drank ? ” 
he said with an oath, which shocked Fostina. “ Who is 
J esus ? ” he mused ; “ I used to hear about him. She 
used to tell the children about him. But, child, he’s 
done loving me ; don’t speak of him.” 

“ There, Morgan, eat yer supper,” said Abigail, with 
a degree of pity in her heart she had not felt for a long 
time. “ Eat ; here is some cold victuals : you like it.” 

“ Yes, father, sit by me and eat ; for I am your little 
girl — your baby that you never saw. I have come to 
live with you a long time. Aunt Abigail and grand- 
mother say that I may. Ain’t they good ? I want you 
to love them.” 

He looked at her in great perplexity. 

“ Those are her eyes,” he said, with an oath. “ Abi- 
gail, who is it ? ” 

“Why, it is your own child — she that was a baby 
when Harmony died.” 

Abigail used to listen in a kind of bewilderment, as 
little Fossie talked of her hopes and plans. “What a 
droll little thing you be. Fussy ! ” was her only answer. 
Fossie soon learned that aunt Abigail did not mean dis- 
approbation by that term, and so it ceased to pain her. 
The dear child had trials. She could not speak of those 
who occupied her thoughts so often. How she desired 
to see them, to hear their loving words, to tell them all 
26 


402 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


her thoughts, to lay her head on their bosoms, and look 
into their dear, sweet faces. In vain Abigail made 
twisted doughnuts and turnovers, with the curious crinkle 
round the edge, with the light crisp crust, or brought her 
sugar hearts. She missed the love which had seasoned 
everything in her other home. So she waited, and labored, 
and thought of the fatted calf, the ring, the new hat, and, 
above all, a father to know and love. She smiled, and 
played with the children, and waited hopefully on till 
the end. There were days at Mehitable Sharp Lentell’s 
which were real holidays to the child-missionary; days 
when the married daughters of the family, with little 
boys and girls, came home — children who had been 
taught to love one another, and respect each other’s rights. 
Little Mary, as their mothers taught them to call their 
cousin, was a favorite among them. She was too modest 
and unassuming to excite envy in hearts fortified as theirs 
were by love. And then her good will was a sure pass- 
port to aunt Abigail’s and grandmother’s hearts. It 
amused them very much to hear grandmother call her a 
“Sharp young one” — her, the demure, quiet, thought- 
ful maiden, so affectionate and kind. “ She means that 
she is like her family ; her name was Sharp,” their moth- 
ers explained to them. Uncle Simeon’s wife was quite 
literary : she found books and papers in her part of the 
house. But the child-missionary denied herself the privi- 
lege of reading, and almost of eating or sleeping; at 
least, she felt willing to, when she could in any way pro- 
mote the work for which she was a cheerful exile from 
the home and friends she loved. There were dark days, 
cloudy days, stormy days for her — days when her father 
would not permit her to approach him; and then she 


UNCLE LEVI. 


403 


hovered around him, watching for her opportunity,” as 
she called it. Uncle Levi plucked the nicest fruit for 
Fossie, listened, with his eyes closed and his head lean- 
ing on the back of his chair, to her artless conversation 
about God and heaven, about Christ and salvation, about 
things she had seen and heard at school — sad things 
and amusing ones, for the little, wise, old-fashioned child 
had a fund of anecdotes. She always heard everything, 
and never forgot. Sometimes, when she went to the vil- 
lage with him, or about his work, he inquired concerning 
Hester and the Loverings, and was much interested in 
her account of their way of living and doing. 

What ! have prayers night and morning ? I thought 
such things were for ministers, or men, at least.” 

Why, I guess not,” was the reply. “ Grandpa is 
dead, you know, and the altar must be kept up. Why 
don’t you have an altar, uncle Levi ? It would make us 
all better and happier.” She waited; he seemed uneasy. 

0, I suppose you had rather pray to God alone in your 
room ; that is just as well, I guess. That is the way 
I do.” 

You pray ? ” said Levi, looking up under his heavy, 
shaggy eyebrows ; you pray, little May-day ? ” He 
called her that often when they were alone. 

Tell me what you mean, uncle Levi, by calling me 
May-day. Is it a good day ? ” 

0, I mean that you are pleasant and lovely.” Levi 
.felt half ashamed that he had spoken words which his 
mother always called “weak as dish-water,” until the 
human nature in his soul was paralyzed and put fast 
asleep. 

The child had aroused his slumbering faculties, and he 


404 


HESTEE strong’s LIFE WORK. 


was hungering for something to feed upon — something 
he had not found in his home. Yes, he was hungering 
for sympathy — for something human to love, something 
to live for besides his cows, and oxen, and horses. They 
were the only living things he had ever loved : they were 
like old friends, but now they did not satisfy him. His 
brother’s children he might love, but he feared his moth- 
er’s derisive laugh — Abigail’s sarcasm. 

Abigail is different,” he mused, as they rode along. 
Little May-day, what shall I buy you at the store ? ” 

Let me think,” said the child ; some maple sugar, 
please. No, no, uncle, don’t buy me anything. I love 
you well enough now. Buy aunt Abigail and poor, lame 
old grandmother something. Aunt Hester says little 
deeds of kindness, little words of love, coax out the 
better feelings, and kindle the flame of affection. I guess 
grandmother’s never were kindled.” 

No,” said Levi, bitterly, she never had any affec- 
tions. She fed and clothed us, as I take care of my 
cows and horses, only not so kindly. May-day, you 
would have been a north-easter, if you had been brought 
up here.” 

Should I ? ” was the innocent reply. “ Don’t you 
love your mother, uncle Levi ? ” 

He looked at the child silently, almost sternly, a mo- 
ment, and then said, Do you love her, or your father ? ” 
.“Yes, I love her, but not as I love them at home. I 
want to make her better, but I don’t want to go and put 
my arms about her neck, and love her hard. 0, I can’t 
love them enough ! I wish you would go and see them 
some day.” 

“AVell, I will,” was the prompt reply. “I will; and 
you shall go and see them, little one. It is too bad ! ” 


UNCLE LEVI. 


405 


“Will you, uncle Levi? How happy I am! For 
when I stand and look out of the window towards there, 
I wish I had wings like a bird, so that I could go ever so 
often, and right back to my mission.’’ 

“ Let’s see ; what is your mission ? — to eat turnovers 
and sweetmeats ? ” he said, smiling into her face. 

“You are very pretty when you smile, uncle Levi. 
Aunt Hester will like you,” said the child. “ But don’t 
you remember what my mission is ? Why, it is to re- 
form my poor father. I feel so, without any, you know. 
The children tease me about it. That is what I stay here 
for; and I like you and aunt Abigail too. I am going 
to help her punch the links, when you kill the hogs ; she 
says I may. Kill them as easy as you can — won’t you, 
uncle Levi?” 

He laughed, placed his broad, brown hand on her head, 
and said, in a voice so low and tender, — 

“ Little one, you are not like us. I don’t understand 
it. What makes the difference ? ” 

“I don’t know, I am sure. Grandmother says I am 
like her Sharp folks.” He frowned. 

“ She — well, it isn’t true. You are like your mother, 
child. She was a Christian — the only one that I ever 
knew. I didn’t always treat her well. The old cock 
crows, and the young ones learn. But I remember her. 
She was very lovely and good.” There were tears in 
those sharp, deep-set eyes, and a little tremor in his 
voice, as he said, “Mary, we were not brought up 
right: that is what ails us. It isn’t a good place for 
a child like you to live. I like you, but I want you to 
go home. Abigail likes you. I never thought she could 
like anything before. But your father is a real sot; 


406 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


there isn’t any help for him; so I want to carry yon 
home before the sweetness is turned sour.” She folded 
her little hands, and raised those large, beautiful eyes to 
his, mournfully, as she said, — 

promised aunt Hester and Martha that I would 
certainly bring him, and I must. Please let me stay; 
only let me go with you to see them.” 

Well, have it your own way ; you are a strange little 
thing.” Those were happy days for the child, when she 
went to see the loved ones. 

Harm mustn’t know a thing about it,” Abigail told 
Levi and Fossie. ^^It is lucky she’s deaf.” Abigail 
indulged her youngest brother more than ever since the 
war. The querulous old lady muttered and mumbled her 
disapprobation, and read, C-h-i-l-d-ive-n, o-b-e-y y-o-u-r 
p-a-r-e-n-t-s i-n t-h-e L-o-r-d! O, hum! I never’d orter 
married yer father, Nabby. He was a nice, clever man, 
but he hadn’t gumption, and he was my third cousin. 
Children never prosper when there’s blood relation. 
There’s a cuss on ’em.” 

Fiddlesticks ! ” said Abigail, aside ; it’s your tongue 
that has cussed us, and allers will, fur’s I see. I wish 
yer loom and yer wheel had been sunk, and yer tongue 
tied. So there ! I’m tired on’t.” Fossie looked up, with 
a frightened, grieved look. 

“Aunt Abigail, did my grandmother used to scold so 
when ” — she was about to say “ when my mother lived 
here ? ” She stopped, confused. 

“ When what ? ” said Abigail. 

“When she was young and well.” 

“Yes, and worse. She was always at it — work and 
fret, work and scold. Father never had a minute’s peace 
in his life.” 


A NOBLE WRECK. 


407 


^^Didn^t he, aunt Abigail? Well, I am sorry, for she 
can’t ask him to forgive her, now he is in. heaven ; and 
she can’t get in there, for I guess she don’t love God.” 

Sho ! ” said Abigail ; “ yes, she will. Christ died for 
sinners. We shall all get in there somehow. I wish I was 
there now ; for if Levi goes to the war, I can’t live — 
that’s all.” Fossie was thinking what to say to Abigail: 
she saw her mistake. 

“ Will my father go to heaven as he is ? Will he, 
aunt Abigail ? ” 

‘‘ How do I know, child ? ” 

Well, would he be happy there without rum?” 

^^No, no, child. Run and get yer turnover: it’s 
mince, with raisins in it.” » 

Yes, aunt, I will in a minute. It is nice. You are 
so kind to me, and I love you ever so much ! But you 
can’t go to heaven unless you are a Chris'tian — no one 
can. We must repent and believe, — the Bible says so, 
— or we can’t go to heaven. Won’t you read it, aunt 
Abigail ? — won’t you ? I want you to go to heaven.” 

I’ll think on’t. There, run and see what yer granny 
wants. What a fool I am to humor that young one so ! ” 
mused Abigail. ^‘1 can’t fret at her — I can’t; and it 
may be true — it may. Warm’s doctrine don’t make any 
on us perfect. Pshaw ! I won’t be led round by a young 
one — and that Harmony’s, too — I won’t ! ” she said, 
spitefully. 

But she was led, nevertheless. Yes, ^^a little child 
shall lead them.” Mary Fostina’s opportunity ” came 
at last. God sent a sickness upon the father; it was 
severe while it lasted, and left him very weak. The 
little girl hovered near him, watched over him, combed 


408 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


out the dark, rich locks, and petted them as Harmony 
used to. They were yet beautiful. She washed the 
soiled face and hands when he was stronger, and caressed 
his hollow cheek, which yet bore traces of manly beauty. 
She kissed the pale, high forehead, and said, softly, — 
Mother loves you, father. She is waiting for you in 
heaven. Jesus loves you. You thought he didn’t; but 
he does. 0, he loved you, and died to save you. Aunt 
Hester loves you, and Winnie, and Wallace, and Sun- 
shine love you. That is what we call Elida. And papa, 
I mean to call you papa, now that you haven’t drank any 
rum this week. Yes, your little Mary loves you, papa. 
I feel so badly when they call you sot and drunkard! 
O, I feel so badly, when you were such a beautiful man ! 
Aunt Hester says so. They all say so. 0, papa ! papa ! 
you promised mamma — my darling mamma ! — when she 
was dying, that you wouldn’t drink rum any more ; and 
she will be disappointed if you don’t leave off. Papa, 
won’t you promise your little girl that you will never, 
never drink it any more ? ” 

She fell upon her knees, and, with clasped hands, 
prayed, without waiting for a reply, — 

“0 God, help him to promise! O Jesus, save him! 
save him ! and let me have my father to love.” Abigail, 
hearing the child’s pleading voice, stepped to the door 
and peeped in. The sight affected her. It was as if the 
child had been inspired by the Holy Spirit. It was a 
solemn, sacred sight. ^^Will you promise, papa?” she 
said, looking with a half doubtful, half hopeful look; 
^^will you? Here is the very letter you sent her; and 
aunt Hester says she believed you. Say, papa, will you 
promise? Don’t speak till you can.” Then she told 


A NOBLE WRECK. 


409 


him, more calmly, her little plan, — how she was to lead 
him to her home, when he was all well and cured of 
drinking. ‘^And we shall all be so happy!’’ she said. 
Morgan Lentell was weeping ; it was long since he had 
wept : but he was very calm. 

Mary, I dare not promise. I have a demon in here, 
which clamors day and night for ‘ rum ! rum ! ’ ’Tis hell 
on earth. I can’t escape it.” Abigail withdrew to weep 
alone ; she was ashamed of tears. 

0, but, papa, you have promised in this letter. Hear 
me read it — hear me.” She read, pointing with her 
finger. He listened and groaned. 

“ O, I dare not promise. God knows I would like to 
reform, but I can’t, I can’t ; it is too late.” 

^^Dear papa, if God knows you want to reform, you 
can ; for if you want to, he will help you. Winnie has 
wept for you j I heard her say she had wet her pillow 
weeping for you, and prayed for you; we all have. 
Won’t you promise to try ? 0, you must.” He gazed 

long, and almost tenderly, into the pale, tearful face. 

Harmony’s face,” he thought. ^^It must be. The 
eyes are hers ; yes, it is the same look, tender, yearning, 
and mournful. I promise ! ” he whispered, hoarsely ; 

I promise, Harmy — I promise ; God help me.” In a 
moment the child fell upon her knees, and poured out 
her heart in praise to God. The sobs of the sick man 
startled her. She said, Amen,” abruptly, and arose to 
quiet him. 

‘‘ It is done,” she said ; “it is done. How go to sleep, 
papa — dear papa. My mother loved yorh God loves 
you. Jesus loves you. You will repent, and believe, 
and be saved. There, go to sleep ; it is done ; I haven’t 
lost my opportunity, as Winnie did ; I went to find it.” 


410 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


Dear child ! She was a little heroine at home, doing 
God’s work bravely and well. How those two hearts 
grew together, as she hung with a mother’s tender fond- 
ness around the returning prodigal ! Reader, you would 
have wondered had you seen them walking to the small 
house near the swamp, day by day, and entering the 
dark, damp, dismal room, hand in hand, and coming forth 
with calm, peaceful faces, only that you know this was 
the child’s chosen place for an altar. Yes, there they 
went to pray. Little Mary’s altar it was. She prayed, 
and it was there she produced the pledge Hester had 
written for her to sign, and said, — 

^^Papa, it was in this corner I was born. Here mother 
died; the bed stood here, you say. Sign it right here, 
dear papa; perhaps God will let her see you sign 
it.” He took the pencil, and wrote, with a trembling 
hand, — 

I will leave it off, God helping me.” 


ELIDA^S VISIT. 


411 


CHAPTEE XL. 

Elida^s Visit. — The Soldier’s Funeral, or the 
Laurel Wreath. 

Levi brought a letter one day, directed to Mary F. 
Lentell. It read thus : — 

“ My darling Sister : What you have told me about 
aunt Abigail, and the rest of them, makes me want to 
come and see them. Uncle Levi I, know and like already. 
Please ask aunt if I may come and stay a week or two. 
I won’t make her a bit of trouble; and if she has 
dresses to fix or make, I will do my best ; for Mrs. P. 
trusts me to do the best of work. They will tell me I 
have what grandmother calls ^gumption.’ I think she 
will take me to be a Sharp. So, little sister, coax them 
to let me come. Your affectionate sister, 

^^Elida Lentell.” 

I can’t have none of yer stuck-up folks here,” said 
Abigail. Dress-maker ! Miss Dress-maker ! You don’t 
want her — do you. Fussy? Aunt Abigail can git yer 
dresses cut in the village, and make um herself.” Levi 
looked eagerly at the child. Would she dare be truth- 
ful? He saw the color go and come; tears glistened in 
the mournful eyes, the lip trembled for a moment, and 
then, with a brave effort, she spoke quite calmly : — 


412 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


^^Annt Abigail, I love my sister very much, and she 
isn’t stuck up, I guess ; she isn’t as big as you are ; and 
she makes nice dresses. And she is so funny, she 
makes us all laugh ! So I wish you would let her come 
— please, do. I should like it better than ever so 
many turnovers and things.” She threw her arms 
around Abigail’s neck, and kissed her again and again. 

Aunt Abigail, say yes.” 

There, there,” said Abigail, as she shrank away, 
half ashamed of being caressed, it was so new — there, 
Tussy, don’t eat me up.” She smiled. ^‘You’re a queer 
little thing. Ask uncle Levi if he’ll go after her. May 
be it’ll make him more contented. Granny’ll fret, un- 
less I can make her think she’s a Sharp, from the crown 
of her head to the sole of her foot.” 

You are the darUngest aunt Abigail I ever had,” said 
Fostina, patting her on the cheek. Uncle Levi will go, 
I know. I see it in his eyes.” She went and leaned 
confidingly against her uncle’s shoulder, and looked up 
into his face. Won’t you, uncle Levi ? ” 

“ I guess not,” he said, smiling. Dress-makers are 
bad things to have round; but aunt Abigail can employ 
one, though,” he said, archly. 

^^Why, no, uncle Levi; dress-makers are not bad, I 
know. My sister isn’t. You have seen her — isn’t she 
funny ? She made you laugh. But she is real good, 
though. Won’t you go for her, and let me go with you ? 
I will give you my new book that Winnie gave me, that 
has the elephant and the monkeys in it.” 

0, that will be fine ! ” said Levi. I’ll go. When 
shall we start ? ” 

^‘Better go now,” said Abigail; “it’s pleasant, and 


elida’s visit. 


413 


tlie pears ^11 be gone afore long.” Levi took the letter, 
and read it. 

^^It is a neat thing,” said he. ‘^Abigail, if you and I 
had more learning, it wouldn’t come amiss.” 

Sho ! ” said Abigail ; if I’d been to school as much 
as you have, I’d be satisfied.” 

^^Nabby, who’s that letter from? Simeon? I’m 
afeared the rebs ’ll kill him. 0, hum ! I’d orter knowed 
better ’n to let him gone. Jule’ll have the pinshin, I 
s’pose. I allers had yer father’s. He fit at Concord 
an’ Lexin’ton, an’ helped take Burgwine. It allers made 
him shudder, an’ laugh, too, when he told how they went 
in one solid Jlanax, right at the pint o’ the bagonet, an’ 
took him with fiyin’ colors. Ha, ha, ha! Didn’t they 
bring him down a peg ? I allers like to see yer stuck-up 
folks brought down. They hild him prisoner o’ war — 
didn’t they, Nabby ? ” 

I don’t know nothin’ about it,” said Abigail. “ You 
burnt up the hist’ry of it, that father bought, ’cause the 
boys wanted to read it.” 

^^Get your information out of the ashes,” muttered 
Levi, starting up, and striding out to the barn. 

‘^Habby, who did ye say that letter’s from ? ” 

‘^1 didn’t say,” said Abigail, impatiently. ‘Ht is 
from one of Morgan’s young ones. She wants to come 
and see if you think she’s got the Sharp gumption. 
She is goin’ to do our dress-makin’. Levi says she’s a 
smart one,” screamed Abigail. 

“Looks like the Sharps, did you say, Habby? Ha, 
ha ! How mad the Loverin’s ’ll be. Good for urn. Let 
her come, Nabby. Likely ’s not she can learn to spin an’ 
weave.” 


414 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


‘‘Not in this house,” muttered Abigail. ‘‘I wish yer 
loom was burnt.” 

“I’ll be ready in just forty minutes,” said Elida, glee- 
fully, when Levi and Eossie arrived ; “ for I am a Sharp, 
you see, and can do things quickly.” 

“ Dress as plainly as possible, darling. Grandmother 
Lentell has a perfect horror of what she calls ‘ stuck-up ’ 
folks,” said Hester, who could do little but look at and 
hold her baby. Martha was busy getting supper. Hes- 
ter was learning to lean upon her a little now ; for she 
could no longer deny that she felt the growing intirmi- 
ties of old age. 

“ You will think me childish, Mr. Lentell,” she said, 
“ and I am. You see I have had a pretty large family 
for a maiden lady, and I love them all, foolishly, I sup- 
pose. You can have no idea how I miss this little pet,” 
she said, folding her in a loving embrace ; “ she is the 
youngest. I miss the boys, too. Wallace is first lieu- 
tenant, and he is so young ! They call him very brave. 
He has never had so much as a scratch. Albert Gray, 
Elida’s intended, has been wounded slightly ; his sister’s 
husband has been sick : we have felt anxious about him. 
George is in a fair way to get an epaulet, as he promised 
to. He is rising, and very popular. Perhaps you don’t 
know my boys, though. I was speaking of George 
Lovering, Fossie’s cousin. I wish the war was over ; it 
is destroying thousands of lives, and souls, too, I fear ; 
for it is, and must be, demoralizing.” When Eossie and 
Hester were alone, she said, “ When think I shall see my 
darling leading home the prodigal ? I have got the ring 
all ready.” 

“ Well,” said the child-missionary, rising up from her 


elida’s visit. 


415 


nestling-place, I think I will come in the spring. You 
see, I have promised to help aunt Abigail chop the meat 
and punch the links with the new puncher; and after 
that it will be too cold to walk home, and they won’t like 
it if I don’t stay. And now that I can come and see 
you, and Elida is going to stay a little while, and father 
has signed, it won’t be so hard.” She breathed a deep 
breath, and waited for a reply. 

Why, my precious darling, auntie wants you very 
much ; and if your poor papa could come and live with 
us, we could nurse him up, and he would be less likely 
to take to drinking again. Here there would be less 
temptation. Mr. Trueman would find some employment 
for him. Perhaps uncle Levi will bring you ; it would 
be a long walk.” 

0, he can’t drink again, auntie, now he’s signed. 
And then you wouldn’t see us coming, and meet us with 
the ring.” 

0, yes, I should. You could wait in the road till I 
came. Wallace and Winnie are going to buy him an 
entire new suit of clothes — boots and all. But, darling, 
you must say, stuff the ^ sausages ; ’ ^ links ’ isn’t proper ; 
and ‘ sausage-filler,’ instead of ^ puncher.’ That is the 
old-fashioned way.” 

Well, I will tell aunt Abigail ; she don’t know it.” 

^^Ho, dear, you had better notj she wouldn’t like to 
have you.” Hester had a long talk with Levi, who very 
willingly acceded to her wishes, and promised to bring 
them in a few weeks. 

^•'We shall miss her,” he said, with a grim smile; 
but she is better here. I shan’t speak of this till the 
time comes. They would be willing to lose Morgan; 


416 


HESTER strong’s LIFE WORK. 


for since he stopped drinking, he can’t do a chore of 
work.” 

^‘0, well, he will when he has rested and recruited 
a while ; and then he can find employment here, or go 
back, just as you and he can agree,” said Hester. Elida 
was the same fun-loving child as ever, only a shade more 
thoughtful. She met aunt Abigail as if she had known 
her for years. 

^^ISTow tell me how to look like the Sharps, so that 
grandmother and I can hitch our horses together, as the 
old saying is,” she said, in her queer way. Abigail 
laughed. 

You’d better look out for the crutches, if she thinks 
you look like Hester or the Loverin’s.” 

‘‘ 0, but I will look like the Sharps. Haven’t you got 
a picture of one of them ? ” 

^^E'o; that’s the only one,” said Abigail, pointing at 
the bed ; and she don’t look as she did, I can tell you. 
Between workin’ and frettin’, she’s ready to blow away. 
Better take yer knittin’ when she’s lookin’, and knit like 
a horse.” 

Do your horses knit ? ” was the jocose reply. 

Then I’ll buy one when I earn enough, for I certainly 
wear out stockings very fast.” 

What is she sayin’, Nabby ? I wish ye wouldn’t 
mince so. I want to hear once in a while. 0, hum ! 
that’s what comes of marryin’ third cousins.” 

She wants some knittin’,” screamed Abigail. She’s 
goin’ to arn enough to buy a horse, she says. She’s got 
the right kind of grit — ain’t she, inarm ? and looks as 
you did when you ’s a gal — don’t she ? ” 

‘‘Where’s my best specks, Nabby? I want to look 


ELIDA’S VISIT. 


417 


at her. IVe forgot how I looked. You say she looks 
like me. Ha, ha I Horace said I was handsomer ’u 
Hester once.’^ Elida drew down her face, and, seating 
herself in the range of the specs, commenced knitting. 
She dared not raise her eyes ; she was full of suppressed 
mirth, which ^e had to restrain with all her might. 

She’s a Sharp,” said the old lady, with great satis- 
faction. “ She looks like me, you say. Well, I guess 
she does. I wish my leg was well. I’d larn her to 
spin an’ weave. She could have my loom an’ am a horse 
mighty quick. Ha, ha ! Good ! she ain’t none o’ yer 
stuck-ups. Nabby, git her some of yer doughnuts, and 
let her stay. There’s victuals enough. She’s got the 
Sharp nose,” she muttered, feeling of her own. . This 
was too much. Elida commenced coughing and choking ; 
she rushed out of the house, out of sight, and laughed 
till the tears ran. ‘‘ Git her some of my ’oarhound, 
Nabby. I used to cough when I was her age ; it cured 
me.” 

There, uncle Levi, you’ve found me,” said Elida, 
laughing so that she could hardly speak. '' Don’t tell 
them ; I couldn’t help laughing, it is so funny I My 
poor nose — 0, my poor nose I Grandmother says it’s 
the real Sharp, and I look like her. You see I can’t 
help laughing ; I never could. ^ I’ve got the bump, I 
guess. Don’t tell them.” The laugh was contagious. 
Levi laughed. Abigail came out with the candy, which 
the old lady always kept on hand as an infallible remedy 
for coughs. 

“ Here, take it,” said Abigail, and tell her you’re 
better. She’d cane ye if she knew what set ye to cough- 
■ji’. Don’t your nose ache ? ” 

27 


418 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“I am foolish to laugh so/’ was the reply. ^*Poor 
old lady I I am glad she liked my pug nose ; but it 
struck me as decidedly droll to hear her call it the Sharp 
nose.” Morgan Lentell did not take to the merry- 
hearted girl as he did to her more quiet, thoughtful sis- 
ter. He had an indistinct recollection of a pouting little 
maiden, who stamped her tiny foot, and said, — 

“ Go away, naughty man. I won’t be your little girl. 
I b’long here, and my name is Sunshine, it is.” But 
she made herself useful in many ways ; worked button- 
holes for Levi, and starched and crimped grandmother’s 
caps very nicely, who, true to her early habits, was 
scrupulously neat. Abigail finally permitted her to fix 
over her black silk dress, “ so as to have it ready to wear 
if Simeon should be killed.” 

‘‘ Lide’s got the real Sharp geno,” said grandmother, 
as she turned the clean crimped cap over and over, with 
childish satisfaction. None of the Leverin’ blood in 
her, I tell ye, Nabby ; she’s a Sharp.” 

“ She takes arter her aunt Nabby — don’t she, marm ? ” 
said Abigail, with a sly wink at Elida. 

''You, Nabby ? ” she said, evasively — " yes, I s’pose 
so. You took arter me, when you ’s a young one, under 
foot all the time. Ha, ha I ” Grandmother’s laughs 
seemed not to come from the heart. They were hollow, 
joyless, soulless, and made one feel like weeping. 

" I will come every year and crimp your caps, if you 
want me to,” said Elida, " for I like to stay here.” 

" She’s goin’ to be married when the war is over,” said 
Abigail, " and then she won’t think of granny’s caps or 
Nabby ’s doughnuts.” 

"Yes, I shall think of crimped caps and aunt Abi- 


ELIDA’S VISIT. 


419 


gaiPs doughnuts, and cheese, too, for they are the best 
I ever ate.^^ 

Pshaw I said Abigail, well pleased with the com- 
pliment. ‘‘ Pshaw ! I can^t cook much. I wonder 
where Fussy and Morgan are. That child makes me 
think of an old hen scratching for a dozen chickens. 
She follows her father, and watches him every minute. 
He don’t seem easy if she is out of sight a moment. I 
caught her mending his pants the other day. Her little 
white fingers warn’t much bigger ’n the darn-needle she 
was usin’. She thinks he never can drink again, because 
he’s signed. Poor thing ! she hain’t lived as long as I 
have.” Elida felt reproved by her little sister’s devo- 
tion to their father. 

I will go and find them,” she said. Where do you 
think they are ? ” 

“ Down to the small house, as likely as anywhere.” 
She had shrunk from going there ; but she went, think- 
ing,— 

I live for self, Winnie and Fossie for others. Wal- 
lace is fighting for home and country. I wish I had a 
mission.” She listened at the door, and heard a child’s 
voice pleading at the throne of grace. She opened it 
softly, crept to the side of the two kneeling figures, and 
knelt ; and when the low “ amen ” was uttered, she 
wound her arm around Fossie’s neck, and wept, say- 

ing. — 

Little sister, your work is not yet done. Teach me 
to be a Christian.” 

0, I am not a Christian,” said the child. I am 
Christ’s little one, father says. Aunt Hester and they 
at home can teach you. The Holy Spirit will teach you. 
Don’t cry, Elida.” 


420 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


0, I must. I am a sinful girl. I laugh and sing, 
and leave the hard work for you, little sister. 

Well, it is my work, Elida. God will give you 
some pretty soon, it may be, and then you will do it, I 
know.” Little prophet. 0, how little she knew the 
significance of those prophetic words I They three sat 
there in the dark, damp, dismal room, and talked of the 
dear sainted mother in heaven, of aunt Hester’s home, 
of grandpa’s bedroom, where the prodigal was to sleep, 
of the ring, the clothes, and the fatted calf. 

Dear father,” said Elida, “ I know you will love me 
the least of all your children, I am so unlike the rest. 
But I am going to be good to you. I wish I was difier- 
ent. What makes me so ‘ chipper,’ as grandmother calls 
it ? and it is the right name. I want you to love me a 
little — won’t you ? ” 

“Yes,” was the quick reply, “ I will ; and I will tell 
you some time what makes you so different. There is 
Abigail’s horn : it can’t be tea-time.” 

“ Fussy Sharp, where’ ve ye been to ? ” said the queru- 
lous old lady. “ Nabby can’t light my pipe worth a 
cent.” 

“ Harm is uncommonly pious to-day,” said Abigail. 
“ She has read the Bible ever since you went out. 
There, she is at it again. Listen. She boasts of not 
goin’ to school, and I used to think it was smart ; but 
I’ve done with that. I wish I knew something.” 

“ In S-a-l-e-m, Salum, a-l-s-o, also, is his t-a-b-e-r-n-a-c-l-e, 
ta-barn'a-cle. Nabby, who is he a talkin’ about there ? 
I’ve been to Salum ; I’ve never seen any ta-6ar/i-a-cle — 
have you?” Abigail laughed; Levi laughed. “That 
will do to go with your ‘ flaiiax ’ (that’s what she calls 


ELIDA’S VISIT. 


421 


phalanx), and the other day she read about the * bell-e- 
^e'rents ^ — belligerents she meant.^^ 

Nabby, what’s he sayin’ ? Why don’t ye tell me 
whose ” — here she spelled it again, and pronounced 
it — ‘‘ ta-6ar7i'a-cle it is ? ” 

Harm,” said Abigail, we’re laughin’ at your lam- 
in’, that ye got in six weeks. Better read to yerself.” 

“ Ye be — are ye ? ” said the old lady in a rage. ** I 
never brung ye up to treat yer betters in that way. 
Didn’t I spin and weave, and buy and sell ? and wam’t 
my family as well off as if I’d spent my life in a book- 
cover, like a worm ? 0, hum I I never ’d orter married 

him : he was my third cousin,” she muttered. 

** There are uncle Edward and aunt Hester,” said 
Elida, turning pale ; for she saw the deep grief in their 
faces, in spite of all their efforts to be strong, that the 
stricken heart might lean on them. “ Aunt Abigail,” 
she said, clutching her nervously by the arm, I know 
some one is dead.” 

‘‘ 0, may be not,” was the reply. Don’t tell marm 
who ’tis, or we shall have a scene.” Elida stood trem- 
bling, with her cold hands pressed firmly over the white, 
white face. Abigail opened the door. Hester and the 
doctor saw at a glance that their errand was compre- 
hended, perhaps exaggerated. 

‘‘ Come in, for God’s sake,” said Abigail, “ if ye can 
help her. She’s dying, I do believe.” 

0, no,” said the doctor ; she will be relieved when 
I teft her that Albert is only wounded, and wants her to 
come and nurse him.” 

Nurse him I ” she said, the hands unclasping. 


422 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


Where is he ? How ? or when ? 0 God, I thank 

thee that he is not killed, and I may see him again. 

“ Be calm, darling, be calm,’^ said Hester. ‘‘ Lucy 
has a mightier grief than yours is yet. Albert, we 
think, will certainly recover, with you to nurse and 
uncle Edward to look after him. He will go with you.^^ 
They did not tell her then that he was crippled for life ; 
they felt that she could not bear it. “But alas! we 
cannot raise the dead. Poor Frank ! poor Emma 1 and 
poor, dear, stricken Lucy I 

“ Then George is dead,^’ said Elida, as she commenced 
to weep. “ 0 Lucy 1 Lucy ! What if — 0, I could not 
bear it I I have been so hopeful and giddy, when they 
have been facing such perils, enduring such hardships 
for me. When can we go, uncle Edward ? 0, I wish I 

could fly I Where is Wallace ? 

“ On his way home with dear George^s remains,^' was 
the reply, “ and very well.^^ 

“ Nabby, who be they ? ’’ said grandmother, impar 
tiently ; “ and what's to pay ? Is Simeon dead — hey ? 
Do tell me." 

“ Elida's beau has got shot in the leg, and her cousin is 
dead, and these are her friends come for her to go home." 

“ 0, hum I " was the reply ; “ Fm glad 'taint Simeon. 
I wouldn't take on so, if I's Lida ; why, I didn't even 
cry ‘when your father died. She can't go — can she? 
She hain't got your dress done." 

“ Pshaw ! " said Abigail ; “ here, come in this way," 
opening the parlor door. “ Let me get ye a cup of tea 
afore ye start." 

Hester gratefully accepted the offer. This had been a 
hard, trying day. Yes, she would be glad of a cup of 


ELIDA’S VISIT. 


423 


t-ea. She felt weak and weary. She must find Fossie 
and her father. She must see Levi if possible. Wal- 
lace would remain at home on furlough. If they could 
come home before he returned, what a comfort I Hester 
prepared Elida very gently for the worst, and yet she 
almost fainted when she knew that the poor limb was 
gone forever, and that henceforth the tall, manly form 
would be shorn of its graceful beauty and strength. 

If I could bear it for him I she said ; if it could 
be me I 0, Albert I Albert I your sacrifice has been 
great — greater to you, perhaps, than the loss of life, 
but to me infinitely less. Auntie, I am glad I learned 
dress-making,^' she said, with a half smile. God is 
giving me something to do. I have lived for self so 
lar." 

** Yes," said Hester, God is indeed giving you a 
work to do ; and I feel confident you will do it faith- 
fully. Dear child, I want you to trust in Jesus. Give 
your heart to him, and all will be well." 

** Auntie, I want to be a Christian. I see the beauty 
of true religion more and more. There is an entire lack 
of Christian principle in grandmother Lentell's family. 
It pained me to see the poor, decrepit old lady treated 
so disrespectfully. She is their mother, and so aged I 
They laugh at her ignorance, when, it may be, she had 
no one to insist on her going to school. I verily believe 
I should have been as ignorant as she, had I lived in her 
day, and followed my own inclinations. You had hard 
work to get me started up the hill of science — didn't you, 
auntie ? I thank you for taking the trouble, though I 
thought it hard at the time. Auntie, I see it now. I 
wanted to live for fun — that was all." 


424 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


‘‘ I pity your grandmother/’ said Hester. She did 
not tell the young girl how much she had to blame her 
for. '' I pity her ; she had no one to cultivate her affec- 
tions or educate her. On the contrary, her parents be- 
fore her gloried in their ignorance, and hired her to stay 
from school. For her want of mental culture she is not 
responsible ; but, Elida, she is responsible for her want 
of Christian culture. If she were an earnest, trusting 
Christian, she would challenge respect from all reputa- 
ble persons.” 

“ 0, how long the time seems ! ” said Elida, walking 
up and down the room. “ How can I wait? He may 
be worse — dying even. I may never see him alive.” 

‘‘I feel that he will live,” said Hester, calmly ; “1 
think he will. Only think how slowly the hours must be 
dragging along at uncle Frank’s ! No hope for them — 
nothing to do but to wait and weep. Think of them in 
their desolation, dear ! it will help you. Think of pooi 
Lucy ! nothing left for her but the cold, cold clay. No 
word, or look, or sound — nothing but the mournful 
privilege of burying the loved one, and weeping over 
the honored dead. He was brave, noble, and generous, 
and has left a name ; was lovely, and they loved him ; 
and when the sorely-smitten hearts have sobbed out the 
mighty anguish, and gained relief in that way, then the 
love and the noble needs of daring will come to comfort 
and cheer them in their darkened way. Pleasant memo- 
ries, bequeathed to us by the dying, are better far than 
wealth. You, dear child, have a sad, sweet meeting to 
look forward to ; so hope on to the end.” 

The village bells tolled long and mournfully on the 
day when Wallace arrived with the dust of his friend 


THE SOLDIBB’S FUNERAL. 


425 


and brother in a common cause. There was a laurel 
wreath on the bosom of the dead, and epaulets on the 
shoulders, and glory such as a king might covet en- 
shrouding the soldier’s clay. The aged pastor, who had 
officiated very acceptabl}^ in the absence of the young 
man who had taken his place at the altar, followed the 
little procession, with bowed head, to the stricken father’s 
house. It was he that dedicated him to God at the bap- 
tismal font ; it was fit and proper that he should say, 
“ Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” when they buried 
him. 

Reader, you understand it all. 0, you know how the 
pulses stop, how the soul seems to shrink and shiver 
when the lid is closed, and how the cold earth, as it rat- 
tles on the coffin, grates upon every nerve. Instinctive- 
ly you wish to shield the dear one. In your anguish, 
you forget that the casket is empty. The soul is gone, 
but yet the dust is precious. 

I thank my God,” murmured the weeping mother, 
‘^that we could bury him, and keep his hallowed dust 
from sacrilege. Isn’t it a comfort to you, dear Lucy ? ” 
It ought to be,” she said ; ‘‘ but I can’t, 0, I can’t 
feel it yet. Dear Mrs. Lovering, let me go to mother. 
0, let me go. I shall distress you. I never thought he 
would die. I’ll come when I feel stronger. 0, shall I 
ever ? ” 

‘‘Yes, dear, you will grow calm and peaceful some 
time. This is your first great sorrow, and it is hard to 
bear ; I know it. If you could have been married, it 
would not seem so sad. We love you as a daughter, 
and for dear George’s sake, love us — won’t you ? ” 

I love you all, and George could not have been 


426 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


dearer than he was. But in the selfishness of my great 
grief, I wish we could have been joined in the holy bonds 
of marriage. I could speak of him so much more freely, 
and feel that I had a right to speak his praises, and talk 
about his love.^^ Reader, these scenes have been so 
familiar in the last few years, that I need not dwell upon 
them. And then they followed each other so rapidly I 
There came a sorrow — you remember it — so much deep- 
er and broader than any which had preceded it, that we, 
for the moment, forgot all other griefs. It was not the 
family circle alone that had been broken ; nay, verily, a 
nation’s chief had fallen ; at such a time, too, and in such a 
way I And then the mourning came so very near to the 
rejoicing I It was as if death had entered the banquet- 
hall at the hour of feasting, and smitten, with cruel hate 
and malice never matched before, the honored master, 
and left the happy guests dumb with grief. 0, who can 
picture the scene I 

One day there came news — Richmond haS fallen ! ” 
How we had looked, and longed, and waited for that 
news ! It meant to us peace, instead of war — dear ones 
at home again ; it meant everything desirable. It was a 
day which would emancipate our noble, self-denying, im- 
prisoned soldiers from a doom than which there never 
was anything more terrible ; and God grant there never 
may be a place inhabited by men so full of woe and ter- 
ror ! Famine and death, in its most hideous form, went 
hand in hand ; literally, it was a place of skeletons. 0 
God of justice, is there a place for such men as those 
who gloated and gloried in the hunger and thirst, in the 
blood and tears, of helpless men, mocking even the agony 
of such a death — is there a place for such men and such 
women to repent ? 


THE LAUREL WREATH. 


42t 


Thou, God, knowest. Well, we thought our calamities 
were over ; freedom had triumphed over oppression — 
right over wrong. Was it strange that we were almost 
intoxicated with joy ? Was it strange that the very 
church bells danced and made music to the nation^s 
heart, as it beat exultant, and said, “ Hurrah ? Even 
the deadly weapons of war, the cruel instruments of 
death, were forced to cease their work of destruction, 
and make melody ! The nation's heart was full : it 
could not be expressed ; and so the cannon roared, the 
drums beat, the bells rang, and men said, Hurrah I " 
children shouted, “ Hurrah I " 

Even the mourning ones — they whose beloved lay 
mouldering on the enemy's soil — smiled brightly, and 
forgot their sorrows ; and, amid the joy and exultation, 
devout thanks went up to God, the Giver of it all. 

It was only a little while, you know, almost before 
the noise of sudden mirth had been hushed into quiet 
thankfulness, that the stunning blow fell upon us, and 
the great, honest, loving heart, upon which we had come 
to lean with a child's confiding love, lay motionless in 
death. Yes, God had raised up for us, in the hour of our 
extremity, an honest man. He had been like '‘the shadow 
of a great rock in a weary land." We rested in his 
shadow ; it was a pleasant shade, and we loved it ; not 
blindly, for we had tried it, and it had not been found 
wanting. And they buried Mm, too — our Lincoln, the 
nation's hero, an able, honest, truthful, temperate man. 
It was a nation's funeral, and the tears were honest tears 
of sorrow and regret. But, after all, we did not fully 
realize the magnitude of our loss. Our grief would have 
been despair, perchance, if we could have seen the future, 


428 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


as it came surging on, freighted with the most tremen 
dous interests to us and the world. 

Yes, we should have been paralyzed with fear and 
consternation, could we have seen the future, and real- 
ized how unskilful, unsteady, and utterly unreliable, was 
the hand which held our nation^s destiny. 


CALL ON THE DIFFERENT FAMILIES. 


429 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Our last Call on the different Families in Our World. 

— Harmony^s dying Wish accomplished, her Faith re- 
warded, OR THE Conclusion of the whole Matter. 

The war is over, of course you know ; or at least the 
noise of battle and the call to arms have ceased. We 
hear no more about drafted men, and high bounties, or 
victories and defeats. Mr. Trueman has not been idle. 
He has discharged the duties of collector faithfully at 
home, and acted as paymaster in the army of the West 
with great acceptability, with the rank of major. Hon- 
est, self-denying worth has been rewarded. His business 
at home has not suffered. Walter has learned to talk 
straight way about, long ago, and, with mother’s and 
sister’s help, he has attended to home trade successfiilly. 
Could you look in upon the family circle, now that they 
have been reunited, you would thank God, with us, that 
there is such a thing as a united, happy family, who 
“ love God and keep his commandments,” ‘‘ in honor 
preferring one another.” And you would see, also, that 
second marriages, if sensibly formed, are pleasant and 
profitable to all concerned. An own mother, be she who 
she may, could not comfort and console Lucy in her deep 
affliction better than the step-mother; and Lucy clings 
to and leans upon her as a daughter should. Mr. Frank 
Lovering’s family have been chastened by their affliction ; 


430 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


drawn nearer together, if possible, since they laid their 
first-born away in the silence of death. A new cord is 
drawing their thoughts upward, and uniting them to God, 
who doeth all things well.’’ The Loverings, generally, 
are enjoying as much happiness and prosperity as is 
common to the lot of man. They are reaping the benefits 
of an early Christian training, and cultivated minds and 
hearts. Dr. Edward has an extensive practice, and is 
doing much good. Mr. Giles is Mr. Giles no longer, only 
in name. He has been with Him “ who is meek and 
lowly of heart,” and learned of him. Old habits stick 
to him, he says ; but he is fighting the good fight, and 
will finally triumph. Ann is a revised edition of her for- 
mer self ; happier than we supposed she ever could be. 
Christian love works wonders, imperfect as it is in the 
human heart. It was the children’s mission to teach Ann 
to love, first themselves, and through that human love 
she may yet learn to forgive, and ask forgiveness and 
wisdom of “ Him who giveth liberally, and upbraideth 
not.” Elevia seems not a day older than she was when 
she went home to die, as she and we supposed. Her 
early dream of returned affection and a happy home is 
realized. The Wileys are Wileys yet ; God pity them ! 
They too, are reaping the reward of their doings. Their 
daughter, whom they loved, it is true, with a sordid love, 
which is born of earth, has disappointed them sorely. 
They taught her to be selfish and self-seeking ; and so, 
when, in the progress of the war (after she had recovered 
from her mortification and chagrin at failing to win How- 
ard Trueman), the fair maidens of the loyal North wrote 
patriotic letters to the soldier boys, Envena cast in her 
lot also. She was deceived by an empty title, a gay 


CALL ON THE DIFFERENT FAMILIES. 


431 


exterior, and caught at a hook which appeared to be 
golden, but it was only sounding brass. The fast young 
man came to see her. The father said he was too fast, 
altogether too fast. “ But he looks well ; he makes a 
show.^’ He was a captain, and might be general. 

As likely as not he will be general,’^ said the doting 
mother. “ Hold on to him, Venie, and see.’^ 

“ I shall be likely to,^^ said the daughter. Mrs. Gen- 
eral Cowell ; it sounds well. Won’t they envy me ? Mam- 
ma, I shall be married in rose-colored silk, with white 
lace looped up over it with orange blossoms and gerani- 
ums, and nothing but a japonica in my hair. Aunt Ann 
may go ; I shall be rich enough without her paltry for- 
tune. I wonder which of the children will get it.” 

My daughter, you mustn’t look ahead too far,” said 
the proud, happy mother ; hold on, and wait.” 

Had they known Captain Cowell, they would have been 
certain he would not wait. There was property enough 
to tempt a man with an empty purse, an empty heart, and 
an empty title which did not pay ; for he assumed it with- 
out Uncle Sam’s consent. He came often. “ OflScers 
could get leave of absence,” he said ; and then he loved 
her so. He might die in battle, — he might, — brave 
captains were often shot in battle, — and then she could 
inherit none of his property, or glory, or pension, not 
even his name. And so one day, without the consent of 
parents, the rose-colored silk, the white lace, or even the 
japonica, they were married privately ; and then, in spite 
of parental frowns, the bride and bridegroom had such a 
honeymoon as is seldom seen. It was more than bright, 
it was brilliant ; it was more than joyous, it was jubilant. 
They rode, they walked, they feasted. In the church they 


432 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


smiled, and looked into each other’s faces and smiled, and 
crept closer and closer to each other ; and the people 
smiled — a half mournful, pitying smile. But the end 
came, the bubble burst. The counterfeit was discovered 
when too late. Self-seeking ended in abasement. 

I intended to tell you, at some length, that Howard 
graduated from the Theological Seminary with honor ; 
paid a visit to the soldier boys, and labored for them 
three months ; came home, obtained a very desirable set- 
tlement in a pleasant, thriving village, and married our 
favorite, Winnie Lentell, the successful teacher, who, in 
spite of many obstacles, was greatly beloved by her 
scholars, as well as numerous personal friends. But my 
book is getting too large, they tell me ; and then the 
wedding was a calm, thoughtful, grave wedding ; they 
realized what they were doing, but were happy, neverthe- 
less, calmly, sensibly happy. And now they have been 
married some years, but their tones are not less ten- 
der, nor their smiles less sweet. Envena is not envied 
by any one to-day ; they pity her, and none more than 
the gentle, loving Winnie, as she folds her birdie boy to 
her mother bosom, and caresses the sweet head nestling 
there, or goes quietly into Howard’s study, to see if 
the minister is grappling with some mighty thought, or 
whether he has mastered his theme, and waits for her to 
listen to the result, with the satisfaction of a loving heart 
in the success of the beloved one. They are happy, 
very ; why should they not be ? They live for others, 
and not for self alone ; for eternity, and not for time only. 
God bless them and their baby boy. Its name is Geor- 
gie. Winnie’s heart has been disciplined and tried, until, 
Howard says, there is nothing left but the pure gold ; and 


CALL ON THE DIFFERENT FAMILIES. 


433 


she is the rrK)st contented and happy little wife and mother 
in the land. 

'‘Howard/’ she says, "is so generous, noble, and 
strong, that I am satisfied. God has cteared up the clouds 
that hung over my childhood, and I ought to love him, 
and I will praise him while I live.” 

Poor Envena I she is sadder and paler now. The little 
innocent one at her bosom calls up no pleasant emotions, 
no happy smiles ; nothing but vain regret. She is not a 
general’s wife ; 0, no ; she knows not that she is a wife 
at all. Her husband has not been heard from, though she 
has sought for him with the energy of despair. No such 
name appeared among the captains of the regiment in 
which he served ; but a man answering to his description 
was counted among the deserters of our army. Only 
this they knew : that bill after bill came in to Mr. Wiley 
on his daughter’s account — the price of her few weeks 
of joyous revelry during the honeymoon. They paid 
them, in silent amazement, and thought to hush the mat- 
ter up. And now, as the months roll on, and the disap- 
pointment takes deeper root in their hearts, they speak 
of their daughter’s bereavement, and say that her hus- 
band " the captain,” died for his country in a Southern 
prison. But they can get no clew to him ; and there is 
no state aid for her, or the fatherless little girl in her 
arms. 0 God ! help and bless the little one, and bring 
it into a better life I 

Mr. Stillman is moving along at a slow pace — nothing 
better, but rather worse. Mrs. Stillman is going on in 
the right way, keeping boarders for a livelihood. Jack, 
poor, misguided, ruined Jack, died on the battle-field, 
honorably, she thinks. Well, let her think so ; give her 
28 


434 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


this little comfort. It would do no good to enlighten 
her ; but his comrades know that he was shot in a drunken 
fray. Poor Jack I you might have been a great, good, 
noble man, with a different training. 

Clara, once the belle of the village, is sitting quietly 
in a comfortable easy-chair, reading a little, working a 
little, or resting a little, as the case may be. She is 
beautiful yet, though the roses and the healthful round- 
ness have departed from her cheek. She is an invalid, 
and always will be, until the mortal shall have put on 
immortality in the better life. The beauty which she 
now wears is the beauty of holiness ; the light in her 
eye is the light of eternal love ; the peace of God is 
resting upon her ; and she, too, is satisfied, or will be when 
she shall awake in his likeness, and behold him as he is. 

I thank God,^^ she says daily, that I am what I 
am — a feeble, suffering invalid ; and not a child of sorrow 
sold unto sin, steeped in pollution, as my companion 
and playmate, the beautiful, the queenly, but fallen Ke- 
gena Steele has become. 0 Eegena, Regena 1 would 
that I could snatch you like a brand from the burning, 
and save you from the wrath of an offended God I she 
said often ; until one day an enormous trunk came to the 
village depot, containing the cast off finery of poor, mis- 
guided, lost Regena Steele, and also a written account 
of her journey from the boarding-house to her '' elegant 
city home prison, her desertion and despair. 

My pride triumphed,^^ she wrote, and I, in my 
turn, became the destroyer, the betrayer, of innocence. 
But my reign is over. Ere this reaches you I shall have 
gone to sleep, never more to wake. There is no here- 
after — none. I am glad. I could not meet the just and 


GALL ON THE DIFFERENT FAMILIES. 


435 


holy God the Bible, speaks of — I couldn^t. But it is 
well enough to believe in him while we live. I wish I 
had. Mother, had you sent me to meeting, and taught 
me the religion of the Bible, I should have been happier 
in this life, and useful to my fellow-men, instead of what 
I am and have been. But it is no matter now ; my 
wrongs are all avenged. The wretch who made me what 
I am died, no matter how. I am weary and sick of life — 
of self ; and, now that I can endure it no longer, I, too, 
shall go to rest in the bosom of mother earth. Fare- 
well. 0, I am longing for rest. I hold that in my 
hand that will give it to me. Farewell forevermore.^^ 

Mrs. Stillman and Clara enjoy much in spite of adverse 
circumstances. Our Father in heaven pity and comfort 
them. Let us cross the street and enter the house where 
the first Mrs. Gray fell a charred and blackened vic- 
tim to Mr. Stillman and the rum he sold for gain, 
which was cursed of Heaven, and proved a curse to 
him. The house is changed since that terrible tragedy. 
How changed it is, and for the better I There is a step- 
mother in it, too. So you see, reader, that the hap- 
piness of a family depends on whether it is composed of 
true men and women, and obedient children, rather than 
upon anything else — don^t you see it ? Step-mothers 
are blessings, inestimable blessings, when the own mother 
is gone, to return no more, if love, purity, and fidel- 
ity prevail in the family circle ; and there can be no 
happiness where they do not, be it own mother or step- 
mother that sits at the head of the table, presiding 
over all. 

Mrs. Gray, the second, was a rare jewel ; and the 
children arose and called her blessed; her husband 


436 


HESTER STROITG’S LIFE WORK. 


also praised her.^^ She wa.T a good, judicious, own 
mother to Henry Herbert, who is now settled on his 
father’s homestead at the West. Hattie is very happy, 
only that she misses home friends. They think of com- 
ing East, now that Elida and Albert cannot go to them, 
as they at first intended. Their purposes are broken 
off. And she was a good mother to her husband’s chil- 
dren, too, and a tender, loving mother to little Ella 
Gray, the youngest pet. There was no room for envy in 
her motherly heart. All honor to the mother of them 
all. The lame boy, who had lost his good right leg in 
his country’s service, and his happy little Sunshine, call 
her blessed. Theirs was a peculiar wedding. There 
was much sad tenderness mixed and mingled in the 
heart-felt congratulations of friends, it was so different 
from what they expected before the war I On account 
of Albert’s feeble, almost helpless state, the return of 
the prodigal was delayed until spring. The little mis- 
sionary was content ; she was teaching them to love. 
Her work there was not done. 

Lottie and her husband, the young pastor of the vil- 
lage church, call Mrs. Gray blessed, as well as Hattie 
and Henry Herbert. Little pet will lisp it soon ; and 
Mr. Gray, the elder, is the most blessed of them all in 
the possession of such a wife. She is the planner of all 
their happy schemes, the sharer of all their joys, and the 
bearer of all their sorrows. And Hester, the strong, 
the noble, the generous, the loving Hester, seemed to be 
the grandmother of them all. How they loved and ven- 
erated her 1 And aunt Martha — the gentle, care-taking, 
loving Martha — was the household aunt, you see ; Mr. 
and Mrs. Gray’s aunt, Henry’s and Hattie’s, Albert’s 


CALL ON THE DIFFERENT FAMILIES. 


437 


and Elida^s, Lottie’s and the minister’s, Howard’s and 
Winnie’s aunt, I mean. But to Fossie and Fossie’s 
father she was more, a great deal more, than aunt. 
Hers was a mother’s love for them. 0, let me tell you 
that the fatted calf was killed and eaten some time since, 
but not until Wallace and Elida came with their precious 
hero soldier, crowned a martyr to freedom. The little 
missionary spoke a prophecy when she said, — 

‘‘ God will give you something to do, sister, and you 
will do it ; I know you will.” Hester spoke truly when 
she said, ‘‘ God is preparing a life work for you, and I 
feel sure you will do it faithfully.” Hers was just the 
disposition to cheer the wounded hero, and make him 
forget his loss. It was Hester that gave them a deed of 
half the old Manlie mansion, which was kept in good 
repair, and seemed not to grow old any faster than its 
mistress. 

It was Martha, the aunt of all of them, and Mrs. Gray, 
the mother of them all, that fitted it up, with a little 
store in one end, and everything nice and cosy, so that 
the children could be happy. “ Albert must have some- 
thing to do,” they said, “or he will miss the strength 
and freedom of other days.” 

And so the noise and smoke of war rolled away, and 
the sun shone in the Manlie house clearer and brighter 
than ever before. For the little willing exile, the child- 
missionary, had kept her promise, and come home at 
last, leading the prodigal in his right mind. They fed 
and clothed him, bound up his bruises, and poured the 
oil of consolation into his weak and wounded spirit. For 
he had been among thieves, you know. 

Little Mary, — grandpa’s Mary, auntie’s Mary, and 


438 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


now papa^s Mary, — you shall wear him as a crown of 
joy and great rejoicing in that day when the Judge of all 
the earth shall count his jewels. Little Fossie, thy faith 
hath saved thy father ; go on hoping, and trusting, and 
working, and waiting. 

‘‘Wallace Lentell, Groceries, Grain, &c.’^ — that is 
the new sign over the old one where Mr. Trueman’s 
name had stood the test of many a storm. “ Trueman 
and Son, Dealers in Dry and Fancy Goods,” is the sign 
overhead. A fine establishment it is now, refitted and 
refilled. There is a new house over the way, almost 
finished. Whom do you think it is for ? It is no secret. 
Wallace and Susie Trueman, they say, will live there, 
and Morgan Lentell, the reformed inebriate. What won- 
der if he is proud of his children I Only he has no rea- 
son to be proud: pleased — that would sound better. 
He has done nothing to form their characters ; other 
hands and other hearts did that. 

Well, he is grateful ; they are all grateful, and as hap- 
py as love and gratitude can make them in this fallen 
world. Such a time as they had when the prodigal re- 
turned I The Loverings were there, — all of them, — 
little and big ; the Truemans, ditto ; only one baby in 
the famil}^, you know ; that is Howard’s : Mason Giles 
and family, too. 

Aunt Ann “ s’posed she must go to take care of the 
pickanins,” she said, with one of her grim smiles, which 
was half a tear, I ween. Aunt Abigail was there, with 
her black silk dress on, and a pale, sad face, softer than 
it had been, for Simeon was dead — in the South- 

ern prison-house of death. That was the hardest of it 
all, she said — he to starve, when the house was full of 


HARMONY’S DYING WISH ACCOMPLISHED. 


439 


food. The hand of the little missionary had unlocked 
the door of her heart, and let the light of a holy, purify- 
ing love into her soul. A little leaven will leaven the 
whole lump, perchance. Levi was there, too. He and 
Abigail smiled at each other when the child-missionary 
touched his arm, and whispered, — 

“ Stop here, uncle, please. It must be a good way 
off, you know. Aunt Hester will see us.’^ And she 
did — came to meet them ; placed the ring on his little 
finger, the same ring which he had placed upon Harmo- 
ny’s many, many years before. 

“ God bless you, Morgan ; in the name of your sainted 
wife I bless you I And, now that you are freed from 
your terrible bondage to drink, I welcome you to our 
home and our loving hearts. God bless and keep you, 
and at last unite you to her who loved you to the last. 
Come and receive the blessing of your children — her 
children and our children.” 

Mr. Lentell stood with his head uncovered, and bowed 
very low. He was too much affected to answer only by 
a firm clasping of the hand, which had so often minis- 
tered to the necessities of his wife and children. Little 
Fossie did not dance for joy. 0, no ! Her emotions 
were too deep to be expressed in that way. She watched 
the proceedings with a calm, deep interest, with her 
small hands folded tightly, her head bent forward, drink- 
ing in every word with an intensity of emotion painful 
to behold. If I am not mistaken, a tear glistened in 
Abigail’s eye. Levi was much affected. He opened his 
strong arms, saying, — 

‘‘ Little Fossie, come to uncle : you have done it all. 
God bless you, little Fossie ; you have shamed me out 


440 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


of my sullenness and selfishness ; and now I mean to 
live for something better than self/^ Fossie crept into 
the open arms, and nestled there, saying, — 

'‘It is God that has done it, uncle Levi ; I couldn’t. 
I am only a little girl ; but they said God had given me 
a mission; so I went to find it. I am glad I did — 0, 
so glad I ” and then the strong emotion of the child 
found vent in tears. Levi patted the head of the weep- 
ing child, and brushed a tear from his own eye, impa- 
tiently. Abigail was distressed to see her weeping so. 

'' Don’t, Fossie;” she called her that now — “don’t 
cry ; you have more reason to laugh, child. You’ve 
done us good. Aunt Abigail shan’t forget ye ; and ye’ve 
promised to come twice a year, and help her and uncle 
Levi to crawl out of their crusts, you know. I was a 
crabbed old thing when you came, child, and should have 
died so, only for you. Come and shake hands with me 
now, and say good by ; for I shall miss ye as much as 
Hester and the rest on um did.” Fossie threw her 
arms around Abigail’s neck, and kissed her with real 
affection. 

“Yes,” she said, “ I will come, auntie ” (she dared 
to say “auntie” now) — “ I will come and help you 
and uncle Levi about your mission.” 

“ What do you mean by that, Fossie ? ” said Abigail. 

“ 0, I mean taking care of poor grandmother, and not 
minding if she does fret ; she is so old and sick, you 
see.” 

“ Yes, I see,” was the reply ; “ I’ll try to bear it bet- 
ter : good by.” 

“ I shan’t hear a word of your going home till you 
have tasted of the fatted calf,” said Hester ; “it would 


CONCLUSION. 


441 


be too bad. Come,- get right out of the carriage ; put 
your horse into the barn ; I will send a boy to help you.’^ 
They were not very loath to stop when sufficiently urged 
by Hester and Martha, joined by their nephews and 
nieces ; that was how they came to be there. 

‘'We must be careful not to embarrass them with 
attentions, or slight them,^^ said Hester to the company 
before they entered. Winnie and Howard met them 
cordially, and held up the baby boy for a little notice. 
Elida received them as old friends, and led them to her 
hero husband with fond, tender affection ; and they 
looked upon him with reverent pity. They knew how 
brave he had been. 

“ If Simeon could have come home in that way, I 
should have been satisfied,^’ said Abigail. 

“ Yes,’^ said Hester, “it was the hardest of all to 
have him starve ; it was a cruel, cruel thing. God re- 
ward them.’^ 

“ He will,^^ said Abigail. “ I believe in future punish- 
ment now ; it must be true.’^ Wallace introduced Susie 
Trueman, the future Mrs. Lentell. 

“And here is my husband’s sister,” said Elida; 
“ Lottie Gray that was, Lottie El wood that is. 0, there 
comes Mr. Elwood, her husband and our minister. He 
married us, — Albert and me, — and I presume he will 
do the same kind deed for Wallace and Susie soon,” she 
said, archly. “ Now I think somebody ought to make a 
speech. This is a great occasion. Come, uncle Levi.” 

“I am not clever at that business,” said Levi. “ I 
can hold a plough and drive a team ; that is about all. 
Make one yourself, Elida ; you are a Sharp, you know,” 
he whispered. Elida laughed. 


442 


HESTEE STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


I, too, think some one ought to make a speech, 
said Morgan Lentell, turning to Hester, who was stand- 
ing by his side. I want to thank you now, and here, 
for making my children what they are — for doing what 
I ought to have helped you do. I never could have 
done for them what you have done, and I thank all the 
friends for their kindness to them. May God reward 
you all. I feel unworthy to call myself their father. 
But,^^ he said, if God will help me, and you can bear 
with me, they shall yet love and respect me before I 
die. Some time,^^ he said, with great emotion, I may 
tell the world how this child — he placed his hand upon 
the head of little Fossie — “sought and saved me ; but not 
now.^^ After a moment^s profound silence, Hester said, 
in a cheerful voice, — 

“ I am more than repaid for all I have done — I may 
say we ; for I have had many and cheerful helpers. Yes, 
I feel amply rewarded for all the anxiety of the past ; 
for I have seen the dying wish of our darling Harmony 
accomplished, her faith rewarded, and I am satisfied. 
Henceforth I have little to do but lean on those loving 
hearts, and rest ; for I am old, now, and weary. Lit- 
tle Fossie promised me she would come back with her 
father before I needed her ; and she has corne just in 
time. But,’^ she added, in a still more cheerful strain, 
“ I only brought home four, and now I give you back as 
good as seven ; and seven as good and intelligent chil- 
dren as you will find, I don’t care where you look. 
Haven’t I been successful ? Now let me go and see 
about the fatted calf, or Martha will have cause for com- 
plaint, like Martha of old, and there will be no gentle 
Master to rebuke her.’^ 


CONCLUSION. 


443 


She won^t complain, aunt Hester, said Wallace, 

so long* as she has grandmother, and Mrs. Trueman, and 
Mrs. Gray, with others of like stamp, to assist her. 
Stay ; you have done enough for one human being, and 
done it well enough to satisfy yourself, I hope. Let us 
minister to you, our guardian and friend from childhood 
until now.^^ Grandpa Lovering appeared, announcing 
that supper was ready, his face radiant with happiness. 
Mr. Lovejoy asked a blessing upon the sumptous meal, 
and the united family, and all present, in his usual 
happy manner ; and Mr. Elwood, the young minister of 
the parish, returned thanks for all God’s goodness to 
them ! from a full heart, fervently ; and then the company 
were entertained by a few patriotic songs. These chil- 
dren were all singers, and Lottie Elwood was leader of 
the village choir, as well as wife of the minister. 

Fossie listened to the fine tones of a beautiful, new 
piano with delight. She had not seen it before. Grand- 
pa’s room had been newly painted, papered, and fur- 
nished with great care and taste by Winnie. Elida, 
with her lesser m^ans, but no less loving heart, had 
placed a beautiful book-case in one corner, with a few 
choice children’s books upon it, and a picture of “After 
the Nap” — three lovely little girls — over it. And 
then other friends brought offerings to the child-mission- 
ary. After the singing, Wallace and Susie led Fossie 
to the instrument, where Lottie still played, and in- 
quired, — 

“ How do you like it ? ” 

“ 0, it is very nice,” said the child, in her sweet, quiet 
way ; “it sounds almost like heaven. Did you buy it, 
Wallace ? ” 


444 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


“Yes, little sister ; Susie and I bought it for you, 
darling. He stooped and kissed her. 

“ Mine I said Fossie ; “ why, I can’t play, brother 
Wallace. I think it is beautiful, though 1 ” And the 
little white hands clasped instinctively. 

“ Well, you can learn,” was the reply. “ A little girl 
with your patience and perseverance can learn to make 
sweet music, I know ; and you have a pretty voice, too.” 

“ You are to be my scholar,” said Susie, kissing her 
tenderly ; “ and by-and-by, when I can teach you no 
more, Lottie will make a finished player of you.” 

“ That will be nice I ” said the little girl. “ I hope I 
shall learn. And grandpa’s room is very pretty — isn’t 
it ? ” 

“ This is to be your room, darling,” said Hester ; 
“yours, dear, while you wish to stay in it; and may it 
be long. Your father shall have grandpa’s bedroom for 
his own. You have brought that to your brother and 
sisters — to us all — which money could not buy ; and 
it was fitting that we should do something for you. This 
is one of the reasons why we consented to let her spend 
the winter with you,” she said to Abigail. “We wished 
to surprise her ; and then our time has been so occupied 
with fixing Elida’s part of the house.” 

“ Likely ’s not you won’t want to come to see us, 
Fossie,” she said, “ now you’ve got such nice things.” 

“ Yes, I shall, auntie. I like nice things, but I like 
folks better : I shall come. And you and uncle Levi 
must come and hear me play ‘ Yankee Doodle,’ when I 
learn it, and ‘ Star-spangled Banner ’ — won’t you ? ” 

“ Why, yes, I guess we must. Good by, little 
chick.” 


CONCLUSION. 


445 


“I want to send something good to grandmother/^ 
whispered Fossie. 

You shall, dear,^^ said Hester; “and I will put up 
some sweetmeats for uncle Simeon’s children — poor 
dears ! Abigail, I wish you would bring your brother’s 
widow and her children down here some day. You must 
all be lonely.” 

“ Like enough I may,” muttered Abigail. She had not 
opened her heart enough yet to take Julia in, although 
the children were gaining ground every day. They were 
storming the castle bravely, encouraged by Fossie and 
uncle Levi. Did ever the children fail ? No, not when 
they had fair pla3^ Reader, if you have a powerful im- 
agination, you can get a better idea of the happiness of 
the family whose father was lost and is found, dead and 
is alive again, than I can give you. Grandpa Lovering 
rejoices with a great joy over the prodigal in his right 
mind, as well as over the reformation of Mr. Giles. 

“ Elevia is as happy as the rest of my daughters,” he 
says, with a quiet smile, saddened by the thought that 
Charles still sticks to his eleven and four o’clock drams, 
in spite of their entreaties. His second marriage proves 
a pleasant one. The little widow Pay son spoke truly 
when she said, — 

“ I shall never be sorry, and I hope you won’t.” No, 
he was not sorry. She was a treasure to him and his 
family. They didn’t mind the bustle : the real goodness 
was there. They too were satisfied ; and she used to 
say, “ My cup runneth over.” 

Patient reader, a little more, and I have done. It is 
autumn again. The new house is finished. Wallace is 
married. His father, much improved in health and 


446 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


spirits, is busy in the store about such things as he can 
do. He is calmly happy. Mr. Trueman^s family re- 
ceive him as a sacred trust from their daughter Winnie, 
who lives in a distant village. 

'' We will do all for his happiness that you could, Win- 
nie,’^ they said, when she lamented leaving him, now 
that he was found. 

“ I thank you,^^ was the grateful reply. 

‘‘ It ought to be happiness enough for me, I suppose, 
to have him as he is ; but we mortals are hard to please.^' 
Let me tell you that Ann Thropee is still further revised, 
so that you would hardly recognize her as the hard-faced 
woman she was. Well, she has been several times to 
spend a few weeks with Winnie. “ I s^pose I must go 
and see that young pickanin,^^ she said, the first time she 
went after Georgie^s birth. I wonder w’at I must buy 
for ’im.^^ 

“ A wheelbarrow,^^ suggested Master Mason Eddie ; 
** buy him a wheelbarrow.^^ Ann laughed. 

“ Well, ducky, I s’pose I must. He’ll be old ’nuff 
to w’eel it some time. I wonder w’at them carts, sich as 
rich folks cart their young ones in, cost ? ” she contin- 
ued to Elevia : '‘I mean the black, shiny ones, with the 
silver things on um. Winn’s good as the best on um. 
I want ’er to ’ave one.” 

They are quite expensive,” said Elevia, but very 
pretty and useful. One would last a great while with 
Winnie’s care. I will give something towards it.” 

‘'You won’t, then,” said Ann ; “ if I can’t pay for’t, 
she shan’t ’ave it ; that’s all. ’Ow much be they ? Can 
ye tell ? ” 

“ 0, from ten to fifteen dollars.” 


CONCLUSION. ! 


447 

** Pooh I ’’ said Ann ; that^s cheap. I^ll buy 'er 
one, an^ put the w^eelbarrer inter it.’^ 

Mason Giles, with his juster views of life, had com- 
pelled his father to do Ann partial justice, and she had 
all the money she wished to spend now, with her habits 
of personal economy. Elevia smiled complacently, as 
she contrasted Ann with her former self, and thought 
how successfully they had covered the skeleton in their 
house with the mantle of charity, until it had become 
something to love. 

Ann was not faultless yet ; but she was being moulded, 
slowly and surely, into the image of Him who is love 
itself. She, and Mason, and Winnie, and Hester, and 
all the Loverings, had helped in the glorious work ; but 
the little children in the house had done more than they 
all. God bless the children, and finish their work in his 
own good time. 

One more call, and my work is done. Mehitable Sharp 
Lentell still sits upon the soft, clean bed, with her Bible 
in her palsied hand, straining the poor sunken eyes to 
find something to atone for her one great sin, as she 
says. 

Nabby, Til go to heaven. I never wronged nobody, 
I didn’t. I’ve worked hard and been honest. Say, 
Nabby, shan’t I go to heaven ? ” 

“ I hope so, marm. Fossie says Christ came to save 
all who will repent. Can’t ye repent, marm ? ” screamed 
Abigail. 

“What is that you say, Nabby? Repent I I’d like 
to know what for. 0, hum ! I’d never orter a married 
him : he was my third cousin.” 

“ 0, dear I ” sighed Abigail. Marm I ” she screamed. 


448 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


** don^t harp upon that : they marry own cousins some- 
times ; that’s nothin’. Think of things you’ve done 
worse’ n that — sins against God and yer feller-men.” 

'‘You lie, Nabby ! ” said the old lady, fiercely ; " you 
lie ! I never sinned worse ’n that. What if I did put 
in a teaspunful o’ laudanum, instead o’ ten drops. I 
wanted him to sleep till the will was writ. That never 
killed him.” She paused, with a frightened look. " It 
didn’t kill him — did it, Nabby? 0, hum I hum!” 
rocking the witchy-looking body back and forth. Abi- 
gail turned pale. Was she a murderer, then ? A feeling 
of horror and disgust crept over her. She remembered 
her kind, patient father — his sudden, mysterious death. 
She felt faint and dizzy, as she thought how her young 
heart had been steeled against that father by her mother, 
and she felt like shaking her by the arm in anger ; but 
she thought of Fossie’s injunction, of Jesus, and of God. 

“ Marm,” she said, " there will be no rest for ye, here 
nor hereafter, if ye don’t repent.” 

" I tell ye,” said the old lady, " I know I never ’d 
orter married him ; but I can’t help it now. Don’t 
bother ; I’ll do well enough.” With a pain at our heart, 
we leave her muttering and mumbling over the Bible, 
spelling out the words, as if her salvation depended upon 
that. " 0, hum I ” we hear her say, as we departed, 
“ I’d never orter a married him, Nabby. But I’ll go to 
heaven for all that. It was only a spunful o’ laudanum 
I gin him; that didn’t kill him, Nabby — did it ? Say, 
Nabby.” Abigail told Levi of this talk, and they both 
shuddered, and looked steadfastly into the fire that 
burned, and flickered, and flashed, and died ; and still 
they looked and thought. Levi broke the silence by 
saying,—- 


CONCLUSION. 


449 


She has been a terrible woman, Abigail, if she is 
our mother ; and we were following in her steps till Fos- 
sie came, dear child. Another pause. 

Ye might as well out with it, Levi. Pve seen how 
iPs been goin^ between you an^ Jule this long time,^^ 
said Abigail, with a forced laugh. “ I shanH stand in 
yer way this time.’^ 

Shan^t you, Abigail ? said Levi, taking her hand as 
he had never done in his life before. “ Well, I am glad ; 
Julia is good enough for me. Simeon loved her, and she 
loved him as she will never love me. I can^t expect it. 
I had determined to marry her if I had to sell my half 
of the place, and leave the state. Simeon^s children 
shall be my children. But if you will treat Julia kindly, 
we can be happy here together. And, Abigail, Julia 
would like to help take care of mother, if you will let 
her.^^ 

She needn^t,^^ said Abigail, tearfully ; it’s my busi- 
ness to do that. Julie is good enough ; she’ll do, Levi. 
But half o’ the property ought to go to Morgan. I 
didn’t think marm was so bad.” 

It shall,” said Levi ; I promise you it shall. 
Com'e, go and tell Julia that she will do ; she will know 
you mean a good deal by that. She always said that 
you had a kind heart underneath.” 

There is sin enough in it,” said Abigail, 'Mf that’s all.” 

She did go ; and now the children climb upon her 
knees, and talk of their dead papa, and cousin Fossie, 
and the kitten, and the new kite that uncle Levi has 
promised them. And aunt Abigail makes twisted dough- 
nuts, and round ones, and turnovers. And they pick up 
the apples, and help her peel them, and pick the chips. 


460 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


and put on a stick of wood, and do a thousand little 
things for her. And if she cannot bring her tongue to 
say '' dear and ‘‘ darling, she calls them pet names, 
nevertheless, such as ‘‘ ducky, and '' kitty, and “ bos- 
sy, and she loves them well. And they, with child- 
hood's generosity, return the love with interest. Julia 
is happier than she ever thought it possible she could be 
when the sad news came that Simeon had starved in 
prison. 0, that was hard to bear I Theirs is a happy 
family now, only there is a living skeleton in it. 

They talked the matter all over together,. — Levi, and 
Julia, and Abigail, — and finally the Noyes and Atwood 
places were sold, and half of the stock, excepting one 
horse, and old Rosy, Fossie’s pet cow. They went one 
clear, bright day, a happy company of them, as many as 
could be stowed away in the covered wagon ; Abigail, 
and Julia, and pet on the front seat, three children on 
the back seat, and Levi on horseback, leading old Rosy, 
the cow. Fossie clapped her tiny hands gleefully this 
time, and Levi said she actually danced for joy. She is 
looking rosier now that the great hope of her life is 
realized. Hester, and Martha, and Elida were pleased 
with Fossie^s present from aunt Abigail ; for it was Fos- 
sie’s cow ‘‘to keep always,” she told Albert. “And 
you shall have nice new milk to make you strong 
again.” 

“ ril drive you a load of hay, Fossie,” said Levi, “to 
feed her with this winter. And 3"ou will have to milk — 
won’t you ? ” he said, quizzically. 

“ Why, I don’t believe I can,” said the child, sadly. 

“ 0, you needn’t,” said Elida ; “ sister will milk. I 
can learn, you know.” 


CONCLUSION. 


451 


** And I can learn/' said Martha. ** I will see to the 
cow till we can find a boy to adopt. We need one — 
don't we, Hester?" 

** Yes, Martha, I think we do. It will be nice to have 
plenty of milk ; we are much obliged to you, I am sure." 
And they all went out to the barn, so long unoccupied, 
to admire old Rosy, which was only three years old, after 
all, and a beautiful creature. 

** It seems like old times," said Martha. " If there 
is any creature I love, it is a cow." Morgan Lentell 
wept when they handed him the purse, saying, — 

“ Take it ; it is yours. We never realized how much 
you had been wronged till recently. And this horse is 
yours. You and Wallace will need it in your business. 
I want to see your name on the sign, too. There is 
money enough to enlarge your business. I am going to 
trade here in the future; don't cheat me — will you?" 
said Levi, trying to laugh away the tears. Susie came 
out to admire old Charlie — a fine beast, fleet, strong, 
and gentle, and only seven years old. She petted the 
horse, and felt that she could gladly kiss her new uncle. 
It was just what they wanted, she said, to complete 
their happiness, which she thought was full before. 

I do believe we are the happiest people in the 
world," she said, putting her arm through Wallace's. 

** No, you are not," said Elida ; " we are ; Albert and 
I are the happiest." Abigail, Julia, and Hester, Elida, 
and Fossie, had come over to congratulate them and wit- 
ness the surprise. 

We have got the prettiest cow in the world," said 
Fossie, and shall make lots of butter ; for uncle Levi 
is going to bring some hay. And if she ever has a bossy. 


452 


HESTER STRONG’S LIFE WORK. 


like the one she had last winter, I shall give it to you and 
Susie, Wallace, to pay for my piano ; and papa shall have 
some milk.^^ 

Bravo, little Fossie 1 ” said Abigail ; “ you’ll do, yet.” 

‘‘And my little girl shall ride with father often,” said 
Mr. Lentell, with emotion. He was looking back ; he 
was thinking of Harmony and the past. “ 0 that she 
were here to enjoy our property I ” he said, softly, to 
Hester. 

“ She is far happier than we ; let that comfort you,” 
said Hester. 

“ 0 that she were here, so that I could ask her to 
forgive me I ” said Abigail, mournfully. “ I believe an 
evil spirit possessed me to treat her so. We have been 
blind.” 

“ I rejoice that you now see,” said Hester. They re- 
turned, and found Martha’s tea waiting. Fossie played 
“ Yankee Doodle,” and several other tunes. Levi said 
it sounded pleasanter than mother’s loom used to. He 
would like to have one of the girls learn to play. 

“ Buy her something to play on,” said Abigail, “ and 
I’ll risk her learning.” Levi and Abigail felt relieved, 
now that their duty was performed. “We have never 
felt right about things at home,” they said to Hester, 
“ but had no idea Morgan had been so foully wronged. 
Mother talks about her getting the writings made out 
often now ; father had no hand in it, she says. I am 
glad justice is done him at last, so far as we are con- 
cerned.” 

“ So am I,” said Hester. “ I respect you for the steps 
you have taken ; you will be far happier. Let us be 
friends in the future ; and may our Father in heaven 


. CONCLUSION. 


453 


bless you, and lead you to a higher life and a better 
hope.^^ 

Wallace hastened to connect his father in business 
with himself. “ It will strengthen and encourage him,^^ 
they all said. The Lovering farm has been somewhat 
encroached upon by the steady march of New Eng- 
land enterprise, and the quietness and romance of the 
beautiful Merrimack, disturbed by the busy hum, and stir, 
and commotion of a manufacturing city. But the old 
farm-house has bravely stood the test. True, its exte- 
rior has changed very much ; the poplar trees have 
given place to shrubs and flowers of a more modem 
date. Old Tom,^^ the family horse, has long since 
gone to rest ; the cider-mill ceased its grinding. The 
river road still abides in beauty ; but it is less cosy 
and secluded than when Harmony and Morgan plighted 
their troth beneath the willows.. And now, as a pale, 
sad man walks back and forth under the shadowing 
trees at twilight, his eyes rest on the many lights 
which gleam from the factory windows. But he is 
thinking of the beautiful light which flashed upon his 
pathway in that very spot, and beamed so brightly upon 
him for a few short years, and then went out in such 
loneliness and neglect. “ 0 God, ’’ he murmurs, “ for- 
give me 1 I can never forgive myself.^^ 


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From Hand to Moutli. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price, ^1.50. 

Popular edition, $ 1 . 00 . 

“ This is a thoroughly good, true, pure, sweet, and touching story. It covers 
precisely those phases of domestic life which are of the most common expe. 
rience, and will take many and many of its readers just where they have been 
themselves. There is trouble in it, and sorrow, and pain, and parting, but the 
sunset glorifies the clouds of the varied day, and the peace which passes 
understanding pervades all. For young women whose lives are just opening 
into wifehood and maternity, we have read nothing better for many a day.” — 
Literary World. 

A Modern Adam and Eve in a Garden, By Amanda M. 
Douglas. Price $1.50. 

Bright, amusing, and sensible. A story of two people who set out to win 
their share of the world’s wealth, and how they did it; which, as a critic says, 
“ is rather jolly and out-of-door-y, and ends in a greenhouse,” — with some love 
and pathos, of course, and much practical knowledge. 

The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. By Amanda M. 
Douglas. Price $1.50. 

This is not a child’s story, nor a comic view of household life, — as some 
might think from its title — but a domestic novel, full of the delights of home, 
of pure thoughts, and gentle virtues. It has also sufficient complications to 
keep the thread of interest draw7t, and to lead the reader on. Among Miss 
Douglas’ many successful books, there is none more beautiful or attractive, or 
which leaves a more permanent impression. 

Claudia. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price, $i. 50. Popular edition, $1.00. 

This is a romantic story, with abundant incidents and strong situations. 
The interest is intense. It concerns two half sisters, whose contrasted charaC' 
ter and complicated fortunes are the charm of the book. 

Seven Daughters. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 

The ” Seven ” are daughters of a country clergyman who is not greatly blessed 

. with the good things of the world. The story is related by the eldest, who 
considers herself far from brilliant or witty, but who makes charming pictures 
of all who figure in the book. The good minister consents to receive a number 
of bright boys as pupil-boarders, and the two families make a suggestive 
counterpoise, with mutual advantage. Destiny came with the coming of the 
boys, and the story has naturally a happy end. 

The Foes of her Household. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
Price $1.50. 

“This is an exceedingly entertaining book. A simple girl, of beautiful 
character, marries a young man in poor health out of pure love, and ignorant 
of the fact that he is rich. His death occurs not very long after the marriage, 
and the young widow becomes the object of practical persecution by his rda- 
tives, who misunderstand her motives entirely. With a nobility of character, 
as rare as beautiful, she destroys their prejudice^nd at last teaches them to 
love her.” — Central Baptist ^ St. Louis ^ Mo, 

“ n 

\EE AND SHEPARD. BOSTON. SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATAtOCUE FREL 


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